


The Fall

by ghoulsngunz



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor, Mild Angst, Slow Burn, dogs!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-24 06:43:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7498140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoulsngunz/pseuds/ghoulsngunz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I need a favor.”</p>
<p>A favor? Karen crossed her arms over her chest. She had to be dreaming. There was no way that after three months of silence the Punisher would be standing in her kitchen asking for a favor. “What kind of favor?”</p>
<p>Frank rubbed his temples. “I need you to help me find my dog.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my attempt at a lighter Kastle story. Well, as light as the Punisher gets. But there will be a little angst thrown in. This is my first fic on here so hopefully I did everything right! Also please forgive any errors--my laptop is broken so I'm typing this all on my phone.

“So what's the worst crime scene you've ever seen?”

  
Karen nearly choked on her wine. This was the third crime scene related question her date had asked her tonight. Third. He'd dodged all her safe, normal questions about favorite movies and books and just went straight for the murder stuff.

  
“Isn't that more of a third or fourth date question?” She asked. 

  
Jake, a lean guy from the Bulletin’s IT department, had seemed so normal when he came to her office to fix her computer, commenting on the book she had sticking out of her purse and asking about the article she was working on. Karen wasn't feeling particularly trusting of men these days, but Jake had a gentle smile and seemed genuinely interested in her. What harm could it do? Plus, Ellison had been threatening her with fluff pieces if she didn't, “get out of the damn office and have some fun. Jesus, Page!” Yeah. Those were his exact words.

  
Of course, she wished Jake told her that he ran a podcast dedicated to profiling criminals before she’d agreed to meet up with him. And that it was the only damn thing he wanted to talk about. _Christ_.

  
Jake smiled apologetically. “Sorry, I don't mean to be weird. I just figured: hey, we both work with darkness and death. Why not just put it out in the open and talk about it?”

  
_You work with computers,_ Karen wanted to point out. But she bit her lip. Yeah, he worked in IT, but she didn't know what Jake had been through. It's not like what she’d gone through over the past year with Fisk and Union Allied or Wesley was written on her face. Well, at least she hoped it wasn't.  _Not your first rodeo..._

  
Karen shivered and pushed the thought away. “If you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about it."

  
If Karen told him about the sights and sounds and smells (oh god the _smell_ ) of the worst crime scene she’d ever seen, she doubted he would be able to keep down the prosciutto carbonara or the white wine he’d ordered. And if he knew that it wasn't something she’d written about, but had happened to her own family on a cool night in pretty, idyllic Vermont, he would probably excuse himself for the bathroom and never come back.

  
“That's fair,” he said gently. Though she would have appreciated it more if he didn't look at her with this weird sympathetic head tilt as he said it. “I'm sure you've written about a lot of things that you'd rather not revisit. I mean, there are definitely some Reddit threads I've seen in my research that I wish I could unsee."

  
The comparison to what she’d seen in the field to what he had looked at online in the safety of his living room was total bullshit. The more he talked, the more clear it became that he hadn't experienced much of the "darkness and death" he was so passionate about.

But he was right in that she’d reported on a lot of dark stuff that was uncomfortable to revisit. Hell, she _lived_ through a lot of things she'd rather not revisit. But that wasn't the problem.

  
Too often Karen found herself poring over crime scene photos and documents, drinking too much wine and crawling into bed at sunrise. Sometimes she would be getting a drink with Foggy at one of the upscale bars near his ritzy new office and see a guy in a suit glance over at her through thick rimmed glasses. Suddenly she’d find herself back in that cold room, watching bloodstains seep into James Wesley’s impeccable suit. But most nights her mind inevitably drifted to _Kandahar_ and coffee brown eyes that said _I'm already dead_. It wasn't that she didn't want to revisit these moments, it's that she couldn't seem to stop.

  
“It's a challenging job,” Karen said awkwardly after a long sip of her drink. Was dating always this weird and difficult or was she just _really_ bad at it? “Thanks for, um, being understanding.”

  
“Yeah, totally. Totally…” Jake leaned forward and adjusted his watch before meeting her eyes. “But uh...do you think I could ask you one more thing?”

  
Okay. Karen was done with the smiling and the painful attempts at small talk. Jake was kind and funny back in her office, but now he was seriously pushing her limits.

She sighed and let her hands fall to her lap. “What’s your question?"

  
“Well, it's not so much of a question as a request…”

  
Karen had a nagging feeling she already knew what he was looking for. It was what everyone from little old ladies who recognized her on the subway to her more criminal resources at the Bulletin wanted to know.

  
“Could you tell me a little about the Punisher?” He asked quickly, almost a little breathless. “I'm sure it's difficult for you to talk about, but you have such a unique perspective. I mean, yeah, the journalist angle has been done before. But you were there for it all--you were his lawyer and a hostage. That's nuts!”

  
Karen took a deep breath and summoned her patience. She hated talking about Frank, answering the same goddamn questions over and over. But she did it. Just like she still wrote about the mysterious killer tearing through scores of gang members and rapists throughout the city (even though the NYPD had officially ruled Frank Castle dead after the explosion at the docks).

  
Because even though she’d told him he was dead to her and pushed him out of her life, he wasn’t. Not really. And the more people who knew that the Punisher wasn't the evil terrorist from the news, the better. The NYPD couldn't pretend he was dead forever, and public opinion mattered. Half the Bulletin was currently filled with articles about the Sokovia Accords.

  
“First of all, I wasn't his lawyer. I was a legal secretary. And I didn't technically start at the Bulletin until after all that,” she said, rubbing her temples. “What exactly do you want to know?”

  
“Everything?” Jake laughed nervously. “My listeners would love to have a more intimate idea of what it was like to stare down a psycho killer. What was it like to be around Frank Castle?”

  
_What was it like to be around Frank Castle?_

  
Being around Frank Castle was like standing naked under fluorescent lights. He had a habit of seeing every open pore and blemish you wanted to keep hidden, even the ones you were hiding from yourself. Frank saw right through all of Karen’s walls and barriers and never flinched. And as difficult as it was to read his dark eyes and the hard lines of his lips, he didn't hide anything. She meant it when she said he never lied to her. Frank was Frank, in all his bruised and broken glory.

  
But that wasn't what anyone wanted to hear. People didn't care about the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled or that he loved funk music. Even the people who approved of Frank’s brand of vigilante justice wanted to know what it was like seeing him snap, how terrifying it was to be in the presence of a cold blooded murderer.

  
“He isn't a psycho,” Karen said sharply. “He’s a husband and a father and a soldier who was deeply failed by the system. Yeah, he did terrible things, but he wasn't...i-it wasn't completely like the police or the news said it was.”

  
Jake frowned. “You used present tense. Do you...do you think he's still alive?”

  
Karen swallowed the lump in her throat and looked away. “It doesn't matter what I think.”

.

  
.

.

The so-called “date” didn't last long after that.

Though she suspected it wasn't so much a date as a research session. Was it random happenstance that her computer got a virus to begin with or was it just the perfect opportunity for an eager IT guy with a podcast to approach her? Or maybe it was paranoia and too many nights spent alone in the three months since Nelson & Murdock, and their relationships with each other, fell apart.

  
But they weren't totally broken. She still got a drink with Foggy (and sometimes even Marci if she deigned to slum it with them) every week, only now they ventured to the nice parts of town. Cheap drinks and pool at Josie's felt too weird without Matt.

  
As for Matt...well, they were a work in progress. Things were as good as they could be considering that he’d been exaggerating his disability, emotionally cheating on her with a beautiful assassin, and fighting crime in a leather suit every night behind her back. Any romantic relationship between them was over, but despite all the tense silences and resentful arguments that stemmed from their meetings these days, Karen held out hope that they could be friends again. Now if only he and Foggy could work things out.

  
Jake offered to share a cab, but Karen declined, opting to enjoy the crisp late summer air on her own. Besides, she didn't think she could stand to answer any more questions about blood splatter patterns and killers. He was most likely harmless, but she planned to have a long talk about him to Ellison on Monday (and to rub it in his face that the one time she didn't work late ended in disaster).

  
Karen trudged up the stairs of her apartment building with a heavy sigh, more than ready to put on her sweats and pretend the so-called date never happened. She made a mental note to extensively google the next person she went on a date with. And to confirm he wasn't a masked crime fighter while she was at it. At the first sign of leather and a passion for justice, she was _out_.

  
She unlocked her door and all but threw it open, intending to kick off her heels and sink into the couch with a glass of whiskey. Instead, she froze in the doorway, gaping at the shadow in her kitchen.

  
“Ma’am,” a voice like sandpaper murmured.

  
_Speak of the devil._

  
Frank Castle leaned against her kitchen counter, sipping coffee out of her green _Visit Vermont_ mug.

  
He looked surprisingly good for someone who lived off black coffee and very little sleep. In fact, he looked way better than he did the last time she’d seen him, shooting a machine gun at a rooftop of ninjas. Dark circles framed endlessly dark eyes, but his face looked fuller and was no longer a watercolor painting of cuts and bruises. He wore his trademark dark coat and black body armor, along with a cautious look on his face.

  
Karen took a deep breath and quickly shut the door behind her before one of her neighbors could see the freaking _Punisher_ in her apartment and called the police.

  
“What are you doing here?” She breathed. Karen thought of the pistol tucked away in her purse but didn't bother. If Frank wanted to kill her she would have been dead by now.

  
Frank placed the mug down on her counter and rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable.

“You don't have to stand there starin’ like you're gonna bolt,” he said. His voice came out rough from disuse “I'm not...I wouldn't hurt you.”

  
She knew it was true. Despite half of the city thinking he was a monster, Frank Castle would never hurt her. Not on purpose. But it didn't mean she was happy to see him.

  
“What the hell are you doing in my apartment at eleven thirty at night, Frank?”

  
“I need a favor.”

  
_A favor?_ Karen crossed her arms over her chest. She had to be dreaming. There was no way that after three months of silence the Punisher would be standing in her kitchen asking for a favor. “What kind of favor?”

  
Frank rubbed his temples. “I need you to help me find my dog.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank and Karen catch up. Whiskey, angst and bad jokes ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading this! 
> 
> I thought I should mention that this isn't going to be a big action-packed adventure--it's more of a slow burn that explore the Kastle relationship. Also, I'm not going to delve too deep into Karen's backstory, but there will be hints of abuse in future chapters. Not graphic hints. But hints nonetheless.

Karen stared at Frank, her thin brows furrowed, mouth agape. “You want me to _what_?”

  
Frank grunted something unintelligible and scrubbed a big hand over one side of his face. “I need help finding my dog.”

  
Karen dropped her purse on the floor and strode into the kitchen, her black heels stomping across the linoleum floor. “I haven’t seen you in three months. I wouldn't even know you were alive if I didn't report on your...your _crime scenes_ every week. And then you show up out of nowhere asking me to help you find a _dog_?”

  
Frank let out a bitter laugh and shook his head. “I was under the impression it wouldn't matter to you if I was around or not. Thought I was a dead man.”

  
Her anger faded, replaced by something close to shame. Karen swallowed the lump gathering in her throat at the memory of that night in the woods outside Schoonover’s house.  _You're dead to me._

  
She’d meant it when she said it. At the time she’d felt so hurt and almost...betrayed as Frank put a bullet through the colonel turned Blacksmith’s skull. She’d seen the damage Frank Castle could create, but some stupid naive part of her thought he could reign it in for their strange sort-of kind-of friendship they'd formed, that he could stop himself for her.

  
But he couldn't. Or at least wouldn't. Karen understood that now, even sort of accepted it after seeing him on the roof fighting alongside the vigilantes she’d later learn were Matt and Elektra. Maybe it was because of her childhood, or maybe it was because of Wesley, but a dark part of her thought that maybe there was a need for Frank's brand of vigilante justice.

  
But it didn't stop her chest from aching every time she remembered that empty look in his eyes as he pulled the trigger.

  
Karen let out a sigh as she struggled for the right words. “You're not….you're not dead to me. I thought maybe it would be easier if you were, that I could stop giving a shit about the things you do if you didn't matter to me. But I was wrong.” She forced herself to meet his steady gaze. “It would have been nice to hear from you.”

  
“Didn't think anyone wanted to hear from me these days,” he said quietly. “‘Specially not you.”

  
The sad thing was how wrong he was. For a guy deemed a murderer and a monster, he still had people who cared about him--Karen certainly did, and she suspected that Matt did as well. And not just out of Catholic guilt. There was something good about Frank Castle that you couldn't help but see when you got close to him.

  
Karen dared a step forward, studying him. “So why did you come here?”

  
He cleared his throat and took a sip of his coffee. Well, her coffee technically. “When I took care of the Irish they had a dog chained up in the back. A grey pitbull, all skin and bones with a big ass cut on his head. I took him in, was taking care of him...then the Irish found me and tried to use the dog against me. Pricks,” he spat. “You know the rest. Killed all the shitbags I could before Red showed up, let the cops take me in. But since I've been out I haven't been able to find the dog.”

  
“I’m sorry, Frank. I didn't even know you had a dog,” she said. She was still having a hard time picturing it. “D-did they hurt him?”

  
Frank shook his head. “Not as far as I can tell. I tracked down every guy in that place to see if they had that dog. Not a trace.” Karen shivered. She didn't want to know what happened to those guys. “My best bet is that he got seized by the NYPD. But I can't exactly waltz in there and ask about it.”

  
_Okay_. This called for alcohol. Karen reached past him and opened her cupboard, taking out a bottle of whiskey. She gestured to him with raised brows but he shook his head. _Suit yourself_. Karen needed something to drink if he was asking her what she thought he was about to ask.

  
“So,” she said as she poured herself a drink. “You want me to go to the police department and ask about the Punisher’s stolen dog? Isn't that going to seem kind of suspicious?”

  
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “You could tell ‘em it's a feature on the pets of killers. Fuck it. Tell ‘em you're interviewing Charles Manson’s parrot later.”

  
Karen choked on her drink, sputtering on the laugh that bubbled on her lips. It was a dumb joke but coming from big stoic Frank, it made her grin. “Did Charles Manson even have a parrot?”

  
Frank’s lips curled into one of his rare half smirks, just barely the ghost of a smile. “It don't have to be true. You've just gotta sell it."

  
“Why me? What makes you think I'll do this?”

  
His brown eyes locked onto her blue ones and she blushed, remembering what she’d thought earlier about what it was like being around Frank Castle. _Like standing naked under fluorescent lights_.

  
“You could say no,” he said. “It's not like you owe me shit. But I don't know anyone better than you at digging into shit they ain’t supposed to be digging into. And you wouldn't let an animal suffer."

  
Karen frowned. “Do you think he's suffering?”

  
“Don't know. That's what I want to find out. Some cop could have taken him home, or they could have just put him down for no reason.” Frank shifted uncomfortably, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking away, his jaw tight.

  
Karen’s chest ached as she pictured Frank stumbling home to whatever hovel he was living in, having no one left in his life, nothing to look forward to besides a little dog with a wound on its head. No wonder the dog seemed so important, it was the last thing he had left. _Jesus_.

  
“Of course I'll help you.” Her fingers twitched at her side, wanting to squeeze his shoulder or hold his hand. If he were almost anyone else, she would have. But this was the Punisher, the guy who shot a man point blank right in front of her, the guy who kept telling her to stay away from him.

  
Karen took a sip of her drink instead. 

“I just need time. Tomorrow I have to cover a speech by the mayor, and my contact in the NYPD doesn't work Sundays. But I can try to find out what happened to him on Monday.”

  
Frank nodded. “I appreciate it.”

  
For a moment they just looked at each other in silence, neither of them knowing what to say. Karen had dozens of questions about Schoonover and Kandahar and whatever else he’d been through, but it wasn't the right time. Though she was cautious, she couldn't deny how warmed she was by the fact that he was alive and okay. She didn't want to push him away and be stuck wondering if the next story she’d be writing about would be his death. So she simply took another small sip of her drink and watched him, still a little shocked that he was really there.

Finally, it was Frank who broke the silence.

  
“You got home late. You workin' on an article?”

  
“I wish,” she laughed. “I was on a date. A very _bad_ date.”

  
“But not with Red.” It wasn't really a question. Frank just eyed her confused face and seemed to confirm whatever the hell it was he was asking.

  
_Red?_ Karen frowned for a moment before the realization hit her. “You _know_?”

  
“What, that my no-show lawyer dresses up like the devil in his spare time?” Frank snorted. “Oh yeah. Wish I knew that one earlier.”

  
“You and me both,” she muttered, voice as bitter as it was three months ago. Yeah, she and Matt were working on things, but God, it still _stung_. Karen poured herself another drink and let out a sigh. “But no, not with Matt. It was with a nice, mild-mannered IT guy who wouldn't shut up about you.”

  
“Me?” Frank arched a thick brow.

  
“Yeah, _you_.” Karen took a seat at her tiny kitchen table and finally slipped out of her heels. “He has a crime podcast and wanted to hear all about my involvement with the Punisher.”

  
His eyes quickly flickered over her, making her suddenly self conscious of the summery blue dress she’d picked out for the occasion. “Sounds like an idiot," he said gruffly. "He dangerous?”

  
“God no. I could break him in half,” Karen laughed, prompting that half smirk again.

  
But the smile was quickly gone as he studied her over his coffee mug. “So you didn't hold on, huh?”

  
He didn't need to elaborate. Their conversation that night in the diner was seared into her mind. She thought of the way her heart pounded in her head and how her cheeks and neck flushed at his suggestion, despite all her protests. _You love him._

  
Yeah, well. Not anymore. 

  
Karen took the last long sip of her drink, feeling the warmth pool in her stomach.

“It’s pretty hard to hold onto someone when they're not even close to the person you thought they were. And you know, in love with someone else.”

  
Karen’s stomach still churned uncomfortably at the thought of her relationship with Matt. It wasn't his secret alter ego that really bothered her--she could actually understand why he would want to keep that private, for both of their sakes. She could even sort of get why he still acted blind around her, letting her take his hand and guide him or help him with things she had no idea he could do just fine on his own. She still felt stupid and cringed when she looked back, but she knew he couldn't just start acting perfectly abled out of nowhere. It was the woman she’d found in his bed that still hurt Karen.

  
When Matt finally revealed his secret, along with everything (so he claimed) he’d been hiding from her, he insisted he’d never slept with Elektra while he was seeing Karen. But honestly, seeing another woman in his bed after all the nights she’d walked home from the office dreaming of being with Matt Murdock, imagining herself in that bed, _really_   _hurt_. She could move on and forgive Matt, but she didn't think she’d ever forget that sour, betrayed feeling in her gut at the sight of them. And she didn't think that Matt would ever be able to move on from that night on the roof.

  
During the few times he and Karen discussed Elektra, Matt changed. His voice became deeper, strained, and a shadow seemed to pass over him. Elektra died on the rooftop that night, but Matt was still completely in love with her. And maybe always would be. 

  
“Fuckin’ Red,” Frank muttered and shook his head, pulling her out of her dark thoughts. “No wonder why he’s been so pissy lately. You want me to pay him a visit?”

  
“Noooo,” she said quickly. He had that amused glimmer in his eyes, but she wasn't about to take any chances. If Matt found out that not only was she helping Frank with something, but that he knew intimate details about their relationship...oh God. “I can handle Matt just fine on my own.”

  
“I know you can.” The corner of his eyes crinkled as his grin grew. “You think I don't remember the way you pointed that .380 at me? Nearly made me piss my pants.”

  
Karen snorted and bit back a grin. “Keep it up and you'll see it again, Castle.”

  
They talked for over an hour, with Frank filling her in on what he'd been up to over the past few months (leaving out the more gruesome details), and Karen asking him about possible leads in a few story ideas she was chasing. Killing the Blacksmith had seemed to temporarily ease his search for justice for his family, but she trusted him when his eyes turned dark and he said it wasn't over yet.  
But for now he’d been working on tracking his dog between busting a sex trafficking ring and wiping out some gangs. He even worked with Matt once or twice, but made a comment that sounded like “fuckin’ altar boy,” under his breath at the mention of it.

  
Karen sank into bed a few minutes after Frank left through her fire escape. _Of course he left through the fire escape_ , she thought with a snort. As if the night could get any weirder.

  
Her eyes felt heavy after a long, strange, emotional night, but there was no way she’d be sleeping anytime soon.

  
_Frank Castle. In her apartment._

  
She didn't know what was more weird: that he had showed up out of the blue to ask her for help finding his dog, or that Karen was actually glad to see him.

  
_God_. Karen groaned into her blankets. She didn't even want to think about what that said about the state of her social life. Karen tried to look at the bright side. At least she didn't get shot at this time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen gets closer to finding Frank's dog.

“Charles Manson had a parrot?”

 Sergeant Brett Mahoney looked down at Karen like she had three heads. It took all Karen had to not to visibly cringe.

“Yeah, it’s a little known fact. The article was mostly my boss’ idea,” she lied, her pale cheeks burning with embarrassment. _Christ_. She really really should have thought of a better excuse to ask about Frank’s dog, but it just slipped out.

If Ellison got wind of this she’d never hear the end of it. Well, assuming he didn't just spontaneously combust upon finding out she was poking around the Frank Castle case again. He’d already given her shit for sneaking into a Dogs of Hell drug den last month.

“Well,” Brett said. “We’ve had a lot of freaks calling in asking about Castle, but this is definitely one of the weirder requests...I mean, not that you're a freak.”

Karen smiled dryly. “Thanks, Sergeant.”

Brett, ever the no nonsense cop, gestured to for her to follow him past the crowded rows of cops chatting at desks and sorting through paperwork, and led her down a short hallway. Karen smiled politely at the officers as she followed him to his office, wondering exactly how illegal this was.

Brett’s office was mostly bare, as if he still wasn't used to his new title and the four walls around him. But she spotted a framed photo on the wall of a young Brett in his graduation robes, smiling next to an older woman with silver hair and a wide smile. This had to be the famous Mrs. Mahoney who Matt and Foggy were always trying to bribe with cigars. Karen smiled softly at the sight, wishing she could tell them about it.

But she had to keep this as quiet as possible. If either of them found out she was helping Frank, even with something as innocent as finding his dog, they would completely Lose. Their. Shit. And with good reason.

This was a guy who shot up a hospital, escaped from prison, and killed dozens upon dozens of people. If Karen had any sense of self preservation, she would have called the cops the minute she saw him drinking coffee in her kitchen. But when it came to Frank Castle, her common sense seemed to just float away. And honestly, with the amount of times she'd been kidnapped and shot at in the last year, maybe she wasn't the best at self preservation to begin with.

“The NYPD has been quiet about Castle, trying to avoid encouraging copycats and crazies who think it’s up to them to clean up the streets,” Brett said as he sat down behind his computer. “But I guess I can tell you what happened to his dog as long as the shelter it went to isn't mentioned by name. We don't need Punisher fanatics hanging around there, freaking out the animals.”

"No, I won't ever publish the name of the shelter,” Karen assured him. Technically it wasn't a lie since there was no article anyway. “These Punisher fanatics...they're that big of a problem?”

“They're usually harmless. Every time some vigilante or would-be superhero hits the streets we get dozens of calls. It's been no different for him. Creeps asking what size jumpsuit he wore in prison, Women sending their nasty ass--” Brett caught himself and cleared his throat. “Women sending him...underclothes in the mail. God knows why they send it to us. It's a real pain.”

 _Underclothes_? Karen bit her lip to hide her smile. What would Frank think when he found out the NYPD had a box full of panties addressed to the Punisher? She coughed and forced her face into a serious expression. “So they don't believe that he died that night on the docks? Or is it some kind of...memorial thing?”

“Between you and me--and off the record,” Brett said, eying her notebook. “I don't think too many people believe Frank Castle is dead. Not with the amount of criminals that keep showing up dead or hurt so bad they wish they were dead.”

Karen shivered. As much as she had learned to accept Frank for who he was and what he did, she could never fully agree with his methods. The bloody, mangled face of the men he killed in the diner that night still haunted her months later.

Brett studied her expression carefully. “No one has bothered you or tried to contact you?”

They both knew exactly who he was talking about.

Karen did her best to keep her expression cool and blank, doing her best imitation of Frank’s stony visage. “No. I haven't been contacted by anyone. The last three months have been relatively quiet actually. I haven't even been kidnapped,” she joked.

Brett wasn’t amused. “Just making sure you're safe, Miss Page.” He typed a few things on his computer, said a few _hmmmms_ , and finally looked up. “Okay. We’ve got a male pitbull that was seized from the warehouse the night the Punisher was detained. Looks like it was brought to….the Helping Paws Shelter on Columbus Ave.”

Excitement surged through Karen’s chest. She loved that promising lead feeling that came everytime she got one step closer to solving a puzzle. She scribbled the address down on her notebook and gathered her things. “Great! Thank you so much, Brett.”

“Anytime. Just do me one favor.” He walked her to the door and surveyed her with a serious look. “Stay safe.”

Karen's smile was tight. She liked Brett but she was getting seriously tired of men telling her to be careful. She appreciated the concern but she doubted he gave the same spiel to Matt or Foggy when they said goodbye. “Don't worry about me, Detective. I can handle myself.”

“I'm sure you can. I'm just worried for the sake of those two fools you hang around with.”

 

 

.

 

 

Karen assumed that someone who dedicated their time to working at an animal shelter would be kind, or at least compassionate.

Of course that was before she met the sour faced fifty-something year old woman manning the front desk at Helping Paws.

"Hi there,” Karen said brightly as she approached the counter. “I just moved into a bigger place and I'm looking into adopting a dog. Could you help me?”

The woman sitting behind the counter dragged her eyes away from the soak opera playing on the small wall-mounted tv in the corner to give Karen a not so subtle once-over. Tracey, as her name-tag read, was unimpressed.

“There's a $300 rehoming fee for puppies. $200 for adults. $150 for seniors,” she droned, picking idly at her long manicured nails. “And there's paperwork. Lots of paperwork.”

“Uh...That's fine.” Karen glanced at her craggy, unblinking face and then back at the door labeled 'Kennels.' “Could I look at the dogs?”

A sigh tumbled from Tracey's mauve lips. “Fine. What kind of dog do you want?”

“I was thinking of something that would be a good watch dog….” Karen shrugged as if just deciding now. “Maybe a pitbull?”

She followed the woman's small form past rows of cages filled with wagging tails and eager barking, her heart melting just a little at each pair of excited eyes they walked by. She was never allowed to have any pets growing up. Kevin took a kitten home once, but their mother forced him to give it to a friend before their father got home from work. Maybe someday she'd get her own dog. She just had to figure out how to take care of herself first.

 As Tracey led her to the last few cages, Karen’s heart began to pound, reverberating loudly in her ears. This was really it: Frank’s dog. She couldn't believe how simple this all was. It sure as hell beat hiding behind dumpsters, trying to snap pictures of criminals.

The woman gestured vaguely with a small wrinkled hand to the last cage on the right. “How’s this one?”

Karen’s hands shook as she approached the cage. If she could do this one thing for Frank, give him something to actually hold onto, maybe he could have a little peace in an otherwise chaotic existence. She took a deep breath and looked down at the dog.

He had perked ears, framing big blue eyes and a little wet nose. At the sight of her peering down at him through the chain link fence, he jumped up, barking excitedly. He was adorable. But he wasn't Frank’s dog. Karen’s heart deflated like a balloon.

“This is a _chihuahua_.”

“You said you wanted a watchdog.”

Karen summoned her remaining patience and ran a hand through her blonde hair. “I'm more interested in a _pitbull_. Do you have any available?"

“Just what you see here," Tracey replied with a smug look. "Do you wanna look at any or not?”

 _Fuck_. Karen rubbed her temple and rethought her strategy. “You know, I called a couple months ago and was talking to someone about this pitbull you had. He was grey and super cute. Can I ask what happened to him? Did he get adopted, or…?”

“If the dog isn't here, it was either adopted or put down,” Tracey said. “Those pitbulls, they're very dangerous you know.”

Karen’s heart sank. “This dog wasn't dangerous. Could you tell me if it was euthanized? I-I would really appreciate knowing what happened to him.”

“If you really cared about it, you would have adopted it two months ago. Now if you're not going to take home a dog, I've got things to--”

“ _Hey_.” Karen stepped in front of her, effectively blocking her path and earning an aghast look.  “Someone I care about really wants to know if that dog is okay. I'm not asking you to break your back over this. Can you just take one single minute out of watching shitty daytime tv and being rude to everyone you meet to answer _one goddamn question_?”

The older woman let out a loud harrumph as she glared up at her. Keyword: up. Ultimately, either because Karen was almost a foot taller or just seemed a hell of a lot crazier, Tracey gritted her teeth and stepped back.

“You are a very rude young woman. I'll look it up, but under no circumstance are you adopting a dog here.” She scrunched her nose as if smelling something rotten. “This whole situation is highly strange.”

“Well,” Karen sighed. “That’s one thing we agree on.”

 

 

.

 

Karen was having a staredown with the blank email on her laptop, thinking of an excuse to tell Brett about why her pets of killers article was cancelled when someome rapped at her door three times.

She stilled, reaching for her .380. It was only five, not even sunset yet. They hadn't discussed exactly when Frank would show up, but she doubted it would be before full dark. The only other people who would visit were Foggy and Matt and they would have called first, especially with the tension that had settled between them recently.

Karen crept quietly to the door, her finger resting on the safety of her gun. “Who is it?”

“It's me,” a familiar voice muttered.

“Jesus Christ.” She let out the breath she'd been holding and let her shoulders sag as she yanked open the door. "You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Frank eyed her under his faded Mets cap with a raised brow. “Did you forget we were meeting today?”

She quickly ushered him inside before putting the gun down on the kitchen table and locking the door behind them. She didn't need her nosy neighbors seeing the Punisher in her hallway. Her landlord had already made it clear she was inches from getting evicted after all the bulletholes he'd had to plaster over, even when she explained she was the one being shot at. _Dick_.

“No, I just…” Karen paused as she looked him over, taking in the grey v-neck stretched across his chest and his dark jeans. For once he didn't look like a criminal or a vigilante. He just looked like...a man. A man who worked out _a lot_.

 _Don't even go there,_ Karen thought. She had shitty taste in guys, but she wasn't a total idiot. She cleared her throat and looked away.

“Sorry, it's just weird seeing you in daylight. I thought you'd show up at my window at midnight or leave a cryptic note on my door with your exact coordinates or something.”

“Sounds like a great way to get the cops called on me,” Frank said with an amused snort. “I, ah, figured I'd come early. You work long days, don't wanna keep you up all night.”

He shrugged, like it was no big deal. Hell, maybe it wasn't a big deal to him. But it warmed her nonetheless. “I appreciate the thought,” she said with a smile. “Not that I sleep much these days.”

"Well you should.” Frank eyes roamed over her face, his mouth set in a determined line. “You've been getting into some serious shit, followin’ around some dangerous people. When people get tired they get sloppy.”

It was Karen’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Keeping tabs on me, Frank?”

She'd often wondered if he checked in on her over the last three months. Sometimes on her walk home from work or on her way to a bar to meet Foggy, the skin on the back of her neck prickled like someone was watching her. The thought should have scared her, especially with her track record, but it wasn't an ominous feeling. She always just assumed it was Matt trying to be there for her in the only way he knew how. But maybe he wasn't the only vigilante in New York watching her back.

Frank let out a noncommittal grunt. “I don't have to. It's all in the paper every week.”

"You read my work?”

Another grunt and a shrug.

She tried and failed to hide her smile. Yeah, he could tell her to stay away and give her all the stony glances and hard scowls he wanted, but Frank Castle still took the time to read her long investigative articles. Of course, half of them were about his work so she supposed he was a little invested.

“So, what do you think?” She asked, a little nervous for his answer. he wasn't exactly one to sugarcoat his opinions.

"I think you must be batshit to wanna spend your nights crouched in shitty warehouses, chasing down criminals.”

She gave him a pointed look. “Oh really?”

“Yeah, really.” He folded his arms over his expansive chest. “But like I said, I think we both know it's not your first rodeo."

Her breath caught in her throat at the memory of that night. No one else even knew she had a gun, never mind that she knew how to use it. What else did he see when he looked at her? His dark eyes were unreadable as they slowly roamed her face. She wanted to look away, afraid that he'd see everything: her childhood, Kevin, Wesley.....But like in the diner, she met his gaze head on.

“Is this the part where you tell me to stay out of trouble?” Karen meant it to sound sarcastic, but her voice came out in a murmur.

Frank’s lips twitched. “I don't think you know how. What, you expectin’ a lecture? From _me_?”

Karen shrugged. Stranger things have happened. “It feels like that's all I've been getting from people lately.”

“Well I ain't Red. Keep sneaking around, asking shit nobody else wants to. Just keep that .380 on you and don't be an idiot.” His eyes moved slowly over her face. “Don't need you getting killed.”

Her heart shouldn't have been pounding in her chest as hard as it was. All he'd done was sort of-kind-of admit he gave a shit about her. _Don't be an idiot_. Only Frank would say those words with fondness. And only she was crazy enough to be comforted by them.

"So.” He cleared his throat and sat down in the chair kitty cornered from the couch. “You find out anything about my dog?” His tone barely changed, only raised maybe half an octave, but it sounded more hopeful than anything he'd said during his trial. 

“The NYPD gave him to a shelter when you got arrested," she said. 

“Is he still there?”

“No. But the woman at the front desk told me who adopted him.” After Karen paid her twenty dollars. _Fucking Tracey_. "A lady in Harlem adopted him a week after he was dropped off there.”

She didn't think he'd be happy that his dog was gone, but she thought he would at least be relieved that the dog was safe and not euthanized. But his expression cooled and lips moved into a hard line. “You got the address?”

“Yeah...but they wouldn't just give a dog to a bad home. You know?” Karen frowned as she flipped through her notebook for the woman’s info. The lady at Helping Paws was a piece of work but not a total asshole.

“These shelters, they know dogs but they don't know people,” Frank said. “I busted a dog fighting ring a few weeks back--they'd pay a few bucks for a dog, act like they're going to a good home. Then they beat the shit out of ‘em, make ‘em mean, and win five hundred when the dog tears another one up.”

 _Shit_. Karen pictured the dozen or so happy, panting dogs in Helping Paws and shuddered. Who could do that to an animal?

“So what did you do to them?” Karen asked, despite her already churning stomach.

“Nothin’,” he rumbled. “I let the dogs take care of ‘em.”

"Holy shit, Sansa,” she breathed. The punishment was fitting, but still utterly horrifying. Still, she remained skeptical. He started a war with entire gangs for his family. What would he do for a dog? “Do you really think they would give him to a fighting ring?”

“Healthy dog with a mean bite when he's cornered? It's possible. What's the address?”

Karen gripped the page with the address scrawled on it with shaking hands. This didn't feel right. Maybe, just maybe, there was a dog fighting ring that Frank’s pitbull was sold into. But part of her thought there was a chance that he just didn't know how to process that he’d lost the last thing he had left.

“I’ll hold onto the address,” Karen decided. “I'm going with you.”

Frank glared at her. “Not happening.”

She stood up and stuffed the folded paper into her purse. “Yes. It is.”

" _No_.” His tone was low and adamant as he pushed off from his seat. “If some heavy shit is going down things could get hot real quick. No reason for you to get involved.”

“You don't even know if that's the case, Frank,” she exclaimed in exasperation. “Y-you're jumping to conclusions and expecting the worst. He could have been adopted by a sweet old lady who just needs a companion.”

His dark eyes seared into her as his trigger finger tapped impatiently against his leg. “All the most fucked up shit I could ever imagine happened to me already, so don't tell me I got no reason to think something could have happened to that dog,” Frank spat. His jaw ticked and he shook his head. “What, you think this--this is some PTSD bullshit? You think I'm delusional? Making shit up?"

“That is not what I'm saying!” Karen took a step forward, pleading with him to meet her eyes, to see that that was the last thing she thought of him. She lowered her voice. “I don't think you're crazy or fucked up for wanting to see this through. Just...just let me come with you. You know I can take care of myself if it's bad. I want to make sure your dog is safe.” _And that you're okay._

Karen didn't need to say the last part out loud for him to understand it. He looked at her, really looked at her in that steady way of his, and she knew it was all written there. His gaze moved from her hard blue eyes down the smooth slope of her nose, and finally settled on her pink lips before he tore his eyes away.

“Alright,” he conceded finally. “Where we going?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen and Frank finally find his dog and make a new friend.

Karen skeptically eyed the nondescript white van parked a few streets away from her apartment building. It looked more creepy uncle than badass vigilante.

Not that she could complain. The car she had inherited from Ben was all but destroyed when Frank drove a freaking truck into it. The repairs had just been _way_ above her pay grade at the _Bulletin_. But at least she saved Ben’s funk tapes and the picture of him and his wife that had been tucked in the glove compartment.

She raised a brow. “This is how you get around?”

Frank unlocked it and climbed inside. “You expecting a jet like the green guy and the assholes in spandex?”

“No,” she laughed as she joined him on the passenger side. “I'm just suddenly remembering all my parents’ warnings about strange men in vans.”

That earned her a low chuckle. “Does that mean once upon a time you used to listen to people’s warnings? I must be dreaming.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“I'm dead serious, ma’am.” He extended his muscular forearm. “Can you pinch me?”

Karen let out a loud laugh, followed by an even louder snort that made her slap a hand over her mouth in shock. Foggy loved when that laugh came out--usually only after she had a few drinks--and teased her mercilessly about it. Her face flamed red and she let out a groan. But the embarrassment was so worth the sight of the broad grin that spread across Frank’s face. For a moment his eyes looked lighter, his face softer, less shadowed. She had to bite her lip to hide her smile. “You're such an ass.”

“Been called worse.” As if suddenly realizing he was smiling, his grin faded, replaced by his usual stony veneer. Frank cleared his throat awkwardly. “So, you know where we're going?”

“Um yeah.” Karen frowned and glanced down at the GPS instructions on her phone. “Take a left at the end of the street.”

They drove to Harlem in relative silence aside from Karen occasionally telling him to make a turn or to look for a certain street. Frank didn't offer anything besides a grunt or a nod, his hard gaze focused on the road.

She puzzled over him, sneaking discreet glances as he glared at the back of the car in front of them. Was he mad at her for making him laugh and look more like Frank Castle the man than Frank Castle the cold blooded killer? Or at himself for allowing it?

It was like the diner all over again. One minute they were laughing and talking like two well-acquainted people, and the next he was growling at her to stay away. Karen sighed, wishing she could have just one more relationship where every conversation didn't end in an internal moral struggle. _Thank God for Foggy_ , she thought. Maybe that could be her next goal: find Frank's dog, then sit down and have one normal conversation with him.

“We're getting close. Maybe we should park here,” Karen said finally, breaking the silence.

Frank obliged, carefully parallel parking before reaching into the back to grab a heavy grey duffle bag. Karen didn't have to ask what was in it. A fuck ton of guns most likely. Hopefully her instincts were right and he wouldn't have to use them.

“What are you going to do if she's just a nice lady who wants a dog?” She asked as they walked. They were nearly the same height but she had to speed up to keep up with his purposeful military stride.

“There’s a lotta dogs in this city,” he said. “She can find a new one.”

Her heels practically skidded on the asphalt. “What the _hell_ Frank!”

His broad shoulders tightened as if he was asking for patience. Like _he_ was the rational one in their situation. Finally he turned to look at her. “What?”

“I did _not_ come out here with you to help steal some poor woman’s dog.”

“That's where you draw the line?” He asked incredulously, arching his thick brows almost comically high. “Not murder. Not arson. Dognapping?”

“I...I guess?” Karen sighed weakly. _Shit_. What was wrong with her? At least when Frank murdered people she could safely assume they deserved it, but this poor random lady didn't deserve to have her new dog kidnapped.

“Relax.” Frank pulled a leather wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out enough bills to make Karen’s blue eyes bulge. “I’m not gonna steal a dog. If she’s reasonable, she can just buy a damn litter of puppies.”

He tucked the wallet away and began walking again with his duffle bag in hand, Karen trailing behind him.

“How do you have so much money? Wait, nevermind. I don't want to know.” She shook her head. How was it that Matt had a beautiful apartment and Frank had hundreds to spend on a dog, meanwhile she actually worked for a living and felt guilty about splurging on a smoothie? “You must really love this dog.”

He did a sort of embarrassed shrug-grunt combo that made her stomach flip. This time she didn't bother to hide her grin. “Does he have a name?”

“No.” There was regret in his eyes when he glanced over at her. “Seemed too personal at the time.”

“Frank,” she murmured. “If he's in bad hands or something happened, it's not your fault. You know that, right?”

He didn't reply. Just gripped his bag tighter and kept walking. Karen only sighed. _One step forward, two steps back._

They walked a little further before she gestured for him to stop outside the entrance to a small park. The sun was setting fast, bleeding brilliant oranges, reds and violets across the sky, but there were still people outside enjoying the Indian summer. Couples perched on the grass and a handful of kids played tag on the playground in the distance under the watchful eye of their mothers. Nobody wanted to go inside and concede that fall was finally here.

“Okay,” Karen said. “So my phone says we’re only three minutes away. If we cut through this park--”

“No need.”

Karen looked up just as a big grey mass bounded into Frank, making him drop his duffle and stumble back with a smile. A young pitbull jumped on its hind legs, pawing at him and wagging it’s tail ecstatically.

Well, he definitely wasn't in a dog fighting ring.

Frank automatically dropped to his knees, letting the dog climb on him and track paw prints all over his shirt. He tousled the dog’s floppy ears and rubbed his big hands down the length of his back. “You miss me, bud?”

The dog simply licked the side of Frank’s face.

Karen could only stare as he let out a soft laugh and wiped his cheek on his sleeve. If he looked different when he grinned at her in the car, Frank was a total stranger now.

Frank Castle always looked dangerous. Even when he was utterly defeated, staring down the death penalty in a too-small hospital bed, he still had the predatory gaze of a tiger in a cage. He was tense, sometimes uncomfortable to even look at. Karen understood why Foggy always felt anxious when she was alone with him.

But with this big dog slobbering all over him, crying for attention, Frank Castle turned to utter mush. His shoulders relaxed and all his hard edges were softened by the tender smile on his lips. He looked younger, brighter. Like for once there weren't demons circling him. Karen could see now what he might have been like before.....everything.

He looked like the kind of guy that teared up during his kids’ school plays and let his wife choose a cheesy rom-com on movie night; the kind of guy who let his dog sleep at the end of the bed and bought the special organic dog treats, even though he pretended like he thought it was bullshit.

 _Don't cry_ , Karen told herself. She blinked hard and looked down at her feet, tearing her gaze away from the reunion taking place in front of her. _Don't you damn cry_. If Frank could get through every day after what he’d been through, she sure as hell could too.

But the moment was already over with the sound of a tiny voice yelling across the park.

“Max! Get back here! Come on, boy!”

The dog’s ears perked up as a small, curly haired figure darted towards them. The boy was around seven or eight with light-up sneakers that kicked up dirt as he ran. He waved his skinny arms out. “Here, boy!” He called again.

This time the dog jumped off Frank and padded over to the boy, his pink tongue lolling out of his mouth before he licked the boy’s face. “Max, you're gross,” he giggled.

 _Oh no_. Karen stepped closer to Frank, who was still kneeled on the ground, watching the boy and his dog with an unreadable expression on his face. So there wasn't an underground dog fighting ring. Just a little boy and a happy, healthy dog.

When the boy noticed them he smiled shyly and ducked his mop of curly brown hair. “Sorry. He doesn't usually run off like that.”

When Frank didn't say anything, Karen stepped forward. “It’s okay,” she said. “He seemed like he was just saying hi.”

The boy gave the panting dog a lovable pat. “A lot of people are scared of him, but he wouldn't hurt anyone unless they were bad.”

Karen smiled at the look of pride on the kid’s face. “I’m sure. He looks like a big softie.”

Frank stood up then, brushing the dirt off his jeans and clearing his throat.

The boy took in Frank’s big frame with wide green eyes. For a moment Karen panicked, thinking he recognized him from TV or the newspapers. She was ready to drag Frank off and run away, but the boy just murmured, “You guys are _really_ tall.”

A relieved laugh bubbled at her lips and even Frank smiled. “She's tall. I'm just average,” he said with a conspiratorial smirk that made her chest hurt a little. Growing up her mother used to call her beanpole and point out how much taller she was than the neighborhood boys, but Frank didn't talk about her height like it was a bad thing. “She doesn't let me forget it either. Always bossin’ me around,” he added.

The boy nodded very seriously, like they were two adults discussing work or their tax returns. He glanced at Karen and leaned closer to the big man, as if imparting some wisdom. “My mom is the same way. But she bought me Max so...I can't complain too much.” He shrugged his little shoulders and rubbed the pitbull’s head.

“Max huh?” Frank surveyed his dog for a moment before nodding. “Good name: strong. You got a name?”

The boy smiled a little shyly. “My mom says I shouldn't tell strangers my name. She got Max to keep me safe from strangers while she's at work and Mrs. Ramos is at bingo. But he likes you so it seems okay…”

“You don't gotta tell us,” Frank said gently. “Your mom’s a smart lady. She working now?”

“Yeah. Mrs. Ramos from down the hall is watching me, but she fell asleep on the bench over there.” He lowered his voice to a whisper and glanced at the grey figure slumped on the bench across the park. “She's _really_ old.”

“And your dad?” Karen murmured, a little afraid. What if he told her his dad was like her dad was--or _worse_ , say nothing, like she’d done for so long?

The boy was matter of fact. “Don't have one. It's just me, mom, and Max. Well...and Mrs. Ramos I guess.”

Frank frowned at that, a shadow passing over his face. His jaw was tight with emotion as he squinted out at the fading sun. There was no way he could take that dog. Not from a little boy without a father.

Karen resisted the urge to place a gentle hand on his shoulder or arm, instead smoothing her hands over her skirt and glancing at the dog flopped out on the ground below them. Max at least looked happy, panting and looking at Frank and the boy with smiling eyes.

“Well,” Frank said finally, his voice heavy. “You've got a damned good dog, kid. But it's getting late. You oughtta wake up Mrs. Ramos and go inside."

"But you just got here! Couldn't we play for a little bit?"

Frank bent at one knee so they were at eye-level and took out his wallet. "We don't have time to play, but I do need someone to handle a very special, top secret mission. You think you can handle it?"

The boy nodded his head vigorously. "Definitely."

He placed the folded wad of bills he's shown Karen earlier in the kid's outstretched little palm. "Keep this safe  and hidden, put it in one of your pockets. Don't let anyone see it til your mom gets home. Tell her to take a few days off."

The kid eyed him skeptically. "That doesn't seem like a very big mission." 

"Well." Frank scratched his stubbled chin and glanced around the park. "I guess I could find another soldier somewhere around-"

"No." The boy pushed his little chest out as he stuffed the money in his pocket. "I can handle it."

"I don't know....You think he can handle it, ma'am?"

Karen fought to keep her expression serious after the subtle wink Frank gave her. She looked the boy up and down as if sizing him up. Finally she nodded very seriously at Frank, ignoring her mushy insides. "He can handle it."

"Yes!" The boy pumped his fist in the air. "Come on, Max. Let's go!"

  
Max got to his feet with a stretch and a lazy yawn that brought a faint smile to Frank’s hard face.

  
The boy hesitated. "Do you want to pet him again? He likes you.”

  
“Nah,” Frank rasped. “You go back inside. You've got a mission to do."

  
Karen bit her lip. This was his last chance. “Frank.”

  
He shot her a look, but it didn't matter. Max padded forward and licked Frank's big hand before he could object. His face was forcibly blank except for the flicker in his eyes as he gave Max one last scratch behind his ears.

  
“You could visit him if you want,” the boy said hopefully. “He likes you. And if you came back to the park when my mom is here you wouldn't be a stranger. I could tell you my name and we could do more missions."

  
“Yeah,” Frank said with a sad smile as he looked away. “We’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you everyone for reading this. Please don't hate me for the end of this chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen opens up about her past and convinces Frank to watch some terrible TV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there had been such a massive delay between this chapter and the last one! I had some terrible writer's block and some really crappy news in my personal life. Bleh.
> 
> But thank you so so much to everyone who has been reading and commenting!! It means so much to me.

The walk back to the van and the drive from Harlem to Hell’s Kitchen was silent, with Frank looking closed off and stormy and Karen sneaking glances at him from the passenger side every few minutes. Finally, parked back on her street, she broke the silence.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

His jaw was coiled tight, shoulders rigid under his t-shirt. But when he looked at her his expression was drained. Like he didn't have the energy to roll his eyes at her question. For the first time since she’d known him, Frank Castle looked...defeated.

So she did what she always did when she felt shitty and weary of the world. “Do you wanna order pizza and watch crappy TV?”

Karen fully expected him to rumble out an excuse and drive back to whatever basement lair he was set up in. But they both looked a little surprised when he shrugged his big shoulders and mumbled, “sure.”

After ordering the pizza (he was okay with veggie, much to her surprise and delight), she busied herself with starting an article she’d been putting off. Not that it was an important piece, but it made her efforts to not stare at Frank as he roamed nosily through her tiny apartment a little easier.

So many questions lingered. How did he feel about the boy and the dog? Would he really visit them? After all, he must go out in public sometimes, at least to the grocery store and coffee shops. Frank was recognizable, but he wasn't as likely to be recognized as say, a dude wearing devil horns. But she had a feeling she knew the answer to that question.

He was the Punisher. He couldn't kill criminals every night and hang out with a child on the weekends. And as happy as he’d briefly looked back in the park, there was obvious pain there as well. How cold he spend time with a little boy when the wounds from losing his own children were still so raw? 

So for once Karen bit back her questions and concentrated on her dull article on leadership changes at the Baxter building, occasionally looking up at Frank as he examined her bookshelf a few feet away.

“I, um, haven't had much time to read lately, so don't judge me for all the dust,” she said. “And I swear, I normally dust. It's just….” Karen shrugged and gestured at the shoddily plastered bullet holes across the walls. “I haven't exactly been worrying about making the place look presentable.”

He looked away from the bookshelf and raised his eyebrows at the shitty bullet-strewn wall above him. “All due respect, ma’am, your handyman’s a fuckhead.”

“Yeah, he’s also my landlord. I'm saving for a new place, but it's going to be a while. As it turns out, the print newspaper business is a dying industry," she said with a snort.

“Hey,” Frank murmured distractedly as he took a seat beside her on her overstuffed blue couch. “Who's this?”

Karen's breath hitched at the sight of the white book in his hands. She knew exactlty who was in the photograph tucked into its final worn yellow pages. She'd looked at it hundreds, maybe thousands of times, yet her fingers still shook as she closed her laptop and took it carefully from Frank's calloused hands.

Two blondes smiles up at her from where they sat on bleachers in a high school gym. One was a girl around fifteen or sixteen, wearing a blue and gold cheerleading uniform and cherry red lipstick that she thought made her look older (even if her mother said it made her look like a clown). The other was a boy around the same age, but with freckled cheeks and a crooked smile that hinted at mischief.

“That’s---that was my brother Kevin. And me.” She bit her lip hard to distract from the dull ache in her chest. “This was his favorite book, _The Catcher in the Rye._  I always teased him for being such a teenage cliche, but he just laughed it off,” she said with a shaky laugh. “He never cared what anyone thought of him.”

There was no question about where he was now or why she had his picture tucked away in a stolen old library book instead of hanging up on her wall. It was plain in her trembling bottom lip and her red rimmed eyes. Frank just moved closer to her and peered down at the photo again. “You wanna talk about it?”

“No.” Karen shook her head. Even years later she wasn't ready to talk about that night, what she had to do. Not even to Frank, who seemed to see all her secrets already anyway. “I-I don't think I can.”

She felt so pathetic. Frank’s whole family had been murdered in front of him and he still managed to talk about it and relive the gory details in court in front of dozens of people. Meanwhile she couldn't even bring herself to think about that night. To remember the shattered glass, the cold night air, her mother’s scream. Karen shivered. 

“Hey.” A big paw of a hand rested on her shoulder. “You don't gotta talk about what happened,” Frank said, his voice a quiet rumble. “Do you wanna...do you wanna talk about him?”

She thought of that first night in the hospital, when she gave him that photo of his family and admitted she'd been in his house. She'd been tough, doing hard research on her own and crossing that red line on the hospital floor to confront him. But when he talked about his family, told her about the cookies hidden in the piano and that day at the carousel....She fell apart. She wasn't strong enough to keep it together and face this man who'd lost everything. 

But when he'd uttered that hoarse _please_ as she gathered her things, she knew she had to stay. Frank's family deserved to be remembered. And so did Kevin. She’d kept him stuffed in the back of an old book for too long.

Karen bit her lip and tried to gather herself. “I always tried so hard back in school. I was so desperate to not be the weird girl with the hand-me-down clothes and the too-strict parents. I had to have the perfect grades and the best hair and the coolest friends--not that they were ever there for me,” she sighed. “But Kevin never had to try. Not at school, not at sports, or making friends. He never wanted to. He was just _him_. He loved crappy horror movies and video games, and he was never afraid of sneaking out or talking back to our parents. He always stood up for me. Even when…”

That night on the bleachers when the girl from the yearbook comittee took their picture flashed through her mind. She was supposed to give Kevin a ride home after a basketball game but her friends on the cheerleading squad wanted to go to a party instead. So she left him and his friends at the school with no ride home. She just fucking _left_ him. Karen’s body shuddered with a sob. “Even when I didn't d-deserve it.”

“Hey, hey. Come on. Don't do this.” Frank’s hand slipped down and smoothed wide circles over her back. “You know how many times my wife and I went to bed pissed off at each other over some stupid shit neither of us could remember in the morning? You know how many times I told my kids I didn't have time to play? Or that I was--I was too tired?” He swallowed heavily and muttered a curse. “You can't let shit like that eat away at you.”

It should have felt bizarre, maybe even darkly ironic that the _Punisher_ of all people was giving her advice on loss. But it didn't feel that way to Karen. It just felt like being touched and comforted by someone for the first time in months. She breathed in his scent, a mix of mint and gun oil, through shuddering breaths as fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

“The whole time I’ve known you I've been trying to help you remember your family, yet barely anyone even knows I have a brother, nevermind that he's d-dead. I don't even have his picture hanging up.” Karen sniffed and let out a watery laugh. “God, you must think I'm such a scumbag.”

Frank’s hand stilled on her back. His voice was low and adamant. “That's the last thing I think of you, ma’am.”

She looked up at him then, his face only inches from hers, and saw that he meant it. But then again, of course he did. He wasn't the kind of guy to waste his breath on something that wasn’t true. Beneath his furrowed brows and ever present frown, there was respect, and maybe even a hint of tenderness as he looked down at her tear-soaked face. _Well, probably not tenderness,_ she decided. Frank was only tender towards animals and children. Everyone else he simply tolerated. Or you know, killed.

Yet she was pretty sure she was the only person Frank Castle touched like he was touching her now. She doubted he and Matt had many rooftop crying sessions.

As if on cue, the front door buzzer let out a shrill ring, making her jump at the same time Frank slid his arm back to his lap. The pizza guy. She had almost forgotten they'd even ordered it.

Grateful to move on and forget he'd seen her crying (yet again, _ugh_ ), Karen jumped to her feet and swiped at her puffy eyes with the back of her hand. She put on what she hoped was a confident, breezy smile and prayed her mascara hadn't run down her cheeks like some awful blonde version of _The Crow_. “I better get that.”

“Nah.” Frank stood up. “You sit down, relax. I've got it.”

“What if he recognizes you?”

“He won’t. No one ever does.”

Karen frowned. Maybe it was only because she’d seen him so many times, but she wasn't sure how anyone could look at him and _not_ see Frank Castle. “Yeah, but what if he _does_?”

There was that wry half smirk again. "You ever meet a pizza guy that wasnt seventeen and stoned out of mind? I think I'll make it."

She rolled her eyes, despite her grin. “Smart ass.”

 

*

 

They ate in relative silence on opposite ends of the couch, with the pizza propped up on the coffee table in front of them. No more crying or back rubs, just a large box of cheesy goodness and silly drama playing out on her tiny TV. Karen shelved the pain intertwined with her childhood and Kevin for another day, glad she finally talked about it, but grateful for the distraction of Frank’s questions about the teenage angst playing out on _Maywood Falls._

“So the blonde girl is in love with the guy with the stupid haircut who plays guitar...but he’s into the brown haired chick?”

“Yeah, but she's dating Dylan--the football player, even though she's secretly a little in love with Serena.”

“The blonde?” He shook his head and grabbed another slice of pizza. “How do you keep up with all this?”

“I only put it on when I'm writing and need background noise. I guess I just remember more than I thought I did,” she said a little too casually. Like she hadn’t spent a whole day on her couch binge-watching the first season two weekends ago. She constantly wrote about violent crime, suffered from vivid nightmares about the guy she killed a few months ago, found out her boyfriend was a vigilante, and was now having dinner with a guy who murdered dozens of people. Sometimes she needed to focus on some one else's soap opera-styled antics. And alright, maybe she had a tiny crush on the actor who played Dylan. So sue her.

“Whatever. Maybe I'm a _tiny_ bit into it.”

Frank eyed her with amusement. “Whatever you say, ma’am.”

Karen raised a brow. “Do you want me to shut it off?”

“You can keep it on. You know, if you want.” Frank shrugged his solid shoulders a little too quickly. “Doesn't bother me…”

“Whatever you say, Frank.”

He rolled his eyes and grumbled something, but she didn't miss the way the corners of his lips twitched.

Apparently it really didn't bother him because he stayed for three more episodes. Karen wasn't sure if it was for her sake after her mini-breakdown earlier or if he just missed cable. Part of her suspected he’d needed a friend as badly as she did over the last three months.

Ultimately she didn't really care why he stayed. She was just happy he did. Even though his trial was over and the Blacksmith was dead, there was still something between them. Some invisible connection between two flawed people that had been wronged by the system and didn't know how to express themselves to anyone else.

And even if she was totally reaching, if Ellison was right and she was just projecting her own shitty past on him, she still _liked_ Frank. She liked his lame jokes and rare half smiles and the way he folded his pizza in half as he ate it. This tentative friendship was so new and fragile, so close to being too much or not enough. But she’d take it. Hell, she'd take just about anything he threw at her.

It was Frank who broke the silence as the credits rolled on the latest episode.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. His dark eyes lingered on hers before moving back to his lap. “You know, for today. Not a lot of people would run across town tracking a dog for a guy like me.”

“It wasn't a big deal," she shrugged. It was worth it to see him so open and happy, even for just a few minutes. "I’m sorry things didn't work out.” 

“The kid needs him more. He'll give him a good home.” He let out a low sigh before meeting her eyes. “My kids wanted a dog. Mostly Lisa, but once she got the little one on her side there was no stopping them. They begged us for weeks. She even…..” Frank shook his head, a small smile on his lips. “She even wrote this little contract promising to feed it and walk it and clean up after it. We almost caved too--our neighbor had puppies for sale and Maria was damn near ready to take one home. But she didn't. We wanted to do the right thing--start with a fish or a hamster, let ‘em learn some responsibility first. Then we’d surprise them with a puppy for Christmas.” He clenched his jaw and rubbed his temple. There was no need to go on. They both knew how that story ended.

The wail of a police siren broke the somber silence between them, bathing their faces in blue as it sped down the street below.

Frank cleared his throat and got to his feet. “I should go.”

 _Right_. It was long past sundown and he had work to do. An emotionally taxing day and a few slices of pizza didn't change anything. They might be friends but nothing stood in the way of his code or his mission. And maybe it was fucked up (Matt would certainly think so), but she felt she was in no position to try to stop him.

Instead Karen followed him to the window leading to her fire escape. For a second she considered  touching his shoulder or squeezing his hand. After all, he'd touched her earlier. When was the last time Frank Castle was touched by something other than a fist?

If it were Foggy or one of the friendlier writers at the Buletin she wouldn't have hesitated. But it was different with Frank. She didn't wonder Foggy or her coworkers' calloused hands would feel like in hers. So she kept her itchy fingers to herself and forced a smile. “I’m glad you showed up here the other night, Frank.”

He raised a brow. “You sure about that?”

“I mean, at first I was pissed,” she admitted with a laugh that had him smirking. “But I'm happy you did. I….you're not dead to me. You know that right?”

Frank’s eyes slowly moved over hers. His smile was gone, replaced with a slightly quizzical frown, like he believed her but he still wasn't sure why. “I know.”

“Will I see you around? I mean, we still haven't found out who Serena’s baby daddy is and if Tucker is going to go to juvie.” She was joking, but there was seriousness there as well. If he vanished for three months again she might acyually have to hunt him down.

He let out a low chuckle, easing her anxiety. “Don't know how I'll rest til we find out.”

Karen’s grin faded as he began to climb out of her window using more grace than it should have been possible for a man of his size. She was still unsure of how to say the words already half tumbling from her mouth before she could stop them. “You're a good man, Frank.”

He looked at her through the open window with furrowed brows, as if she’d called him an asshole instead. He opened his mouth in protest, but she continued before he could ground out whatever broody warning he was about to say. “I-I know it doesn't change anything, but you did the right thing today. That little boy has more love in his life than he knows what to do with now.”

She wanted to drag her eyes away from him, to give in to her embarrassment and mumble some awkward joke to lighten the mood. But she forced herself to meet his conflicted stare. She was just being honest. If he didn't want to see himself as someone other than the monster on the news, that was on him. But he was a good man and she wouldn't let herself get embarrassed or brush it off as nothing. It wasn't nothing. _He_ wasn't nothing.

She thought Frank would argue, maybe mutter some caustic remark. Instead he just tipped his head in a small nod, his expression unreadable as his eyes flickered over her eyes, nose, and finally her lips. “Goodnight, ma’am.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a short appearance by Foggy (more to come next chapter). Meanwhile Karen has some soul searching to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who has been reading and commenting and leaving kudos!! Hope you enjoy the latest. Please forgive any errors (and love for the Red Sox ;p ).
> 
> Also, minor trigger warning: one paragraph hints at child abuse.

“Did you tell Brett you were doing an article on the pets of famous killers?”

Karen nearly choked on her coffee. Thank God she was talking to Foggy over the phone on her lunch break and not in person.  He would be immediately suspicious of the color draining abruptly from her face.

“Um, I interviewed him about it a few weeks ago but it just didn't pan out.” She leaned in her office chair to make sure Ellison wasn't around. “My editor vetoed it. It was sort of a silly idea anyway.”

“I guess it did sound kind of clickbaity,” Foggy said. He made his voice comically low. “‘You won't believe where the Nightstalker's goldfish is today. Share to find out!’”

“Yeah, Ellison decided it was more the _Daily Bugle_ 's speed. Did, ah, Brett mention anything else about it?” She asked carefully. If he told Foggy she was digging around into the Punisher case again, he likely would have been storming into her office instead of calling her on his lunch break, but still.

“Well, when I ran into him at the deli the other day he seemed casual, but if I didn't know any better I _might_ think the sergeant was kinda bummed he wasn't in the paper. Who’d have thought?”

Karen let out a sigh of relief. She’d quote Brett in a hundred articles if he never mentioned her asking about Frank Castle.

Obviously she was a grown ass woman and it didn't matter if Foggy or Matt knew that she was doing some "research" on Frank (or in this case, his dog): after all, half her articles were about him. The NYPD may have pronounced him dead, but Foggy and Matt had no illusions about the Punisher's status or whereabouts. What other gunman in black armor was brutally killing thugs and gang members every week? But lately she was feeling a little guilty about just how much she was seeing Frank Castle.

They might understand her helping him find his dog. After all, no one liked to think of an animal in danger. But they might have more trouble with Frank showing up at the docks (it was always the damn docks) to help her track down some guys who were selling heroin to kids two weeks ago. Or him coming over for a late night cup of coffee when he saw her light on last Thursday. Or when he just happened to show up at her favorite coffee shop earlier this morning with some tips on her current article.

Yeah. To say they wouldn't be thrilled would be a giant fucking understatement. So for now she was keeping it to herself. She’d have to tell them eventually--they were her best friends. But it didn't mean she was looking forward to it.

“Hey, you there? Karen?”

Aaand she was being a selfish jerk again.

“I’m sorry, Fog! I've just been super distracted by this...weird turn of events in this article I've been working on.”

“Oh phew, I thought you were doing the whole going-through-a-tunnel thing to get out of me inviting you to Marci’s birthday party. By the way, you're invited to Marci’s 34th birthday party. It's in two weeks at this place near HC&B and you have to come."

“I'm invited?” She tried to hide her confusion. “I mean…..thank you. That's really nice of her.”

Karen wasn't _not_ friendly with Foggy’s friend with benefits slash co-worker slash kind-of-sort-of girlfriend, but they weren't super close either. They were great at teasing Foggy together and kicking ass at pool when Marci deigned to appear at Josie's, but that was pretty much where their similarities ended. Marci was a good person (as much as she’d love to deny it) and better, she was good for Foggy (as much as he tried to deny it), but she and Karen weren't about to go to spin class or brunch or whatever thirty-something year old women do together anytime soon.

“Well, you're kind of my invite. She thinks I’ll embarrass her with my ‘sixth grade sense of humor’ if it's just me and her waspy friends. And she's probably right, so…...please come with me,” he begged.

“Relax. I wouldn't miss it,” Karen laughed.

“Good.” Foggy’s relieved sigh led to a long silence on the line as he mulled over whatever he was thinking of. “It's weird. You know, not seeing you everyday at the firm. I feel like I haven't talked to you in forever. I didn't even get to hear about that date you went on with that computer guy.”

Her date with Jake felt more like a lifetime ago than the few weeks it had been. She honestly probably would have forgotten about it if he hadn't emailed her _four_ times asking her to appear as a guest on his podcast for an episode dedicated to the Punisher case.  _Hard pass_. She was damn near ready to write a note to his boss if he kept it up.

“ _Ugh_. Such a disaster. I’ll have to tell you at Marci’s party,” she grumbled, her eyes flicking outside her office. There were way too many prying eyes and ears at the Bulletin because, well,   _journalists_ , and she didn't want to be the subject of more gossip than she already was. She had heard the whispers. _Ellison's little protege._ _Miss Front Office_. She didn't blame them: respect has to be earned and she had a ways to go. Karen bit her lip. “I miss you too. I love writing and investigating, but it's weird not working with you.”

 _And Matt,_  she added silently. She was over her brief and all-consuming infatuation with Matt Murdock, but she still missed his quiet jokes and that steadfast determination to help people. He was a good friend. When he didn't have his head up his righteous (but firm) butt.

“And I'm sure you miss getting paid in bananas and baked goods,” Foggy joked before growing serious. “Have you talked to him at all?”

There was no need to ask who he meant. Only one friend of theirs was currently at Voldemort-level name avoidance.

“Not really. We got coffee a month ago and he chewed me out for following some sex traffickers he was tracking down, but that's about it. You?” She asked, even though she already knew the answer.

“ _No_. He can talk to me when he’s ready to apologize.”

Karen sighed. Foggy was taking his break up with Matt _a lot_ worse than she did. Every day he sounded more and more like a jilted divorcé. “You could always be the bigger person…”

“Not this time.” She could practically hear him shaking his head on the other end of the phone. “I'm done being the responsible one and doing the right thing. Why should I be the one to pick up the pieces _again_? For once I just want to be selfish. You know?”

 _Selfish._ Like hanging out with a guy you _admitted_ should be in prison because you thought you had some kind of weird connection and liked eating pizza and getting coffee together way more than you were comfortable admitting. Like keeping an enormous secret from your closest friends because you don't want to hear how badly they're worried about you. _Ugh_.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I know.”

 

.

 

"You gotta be kidding me, ma'am."

"Nope." Karen didn't even try to hide her smile. "Completely serious."

Frank took a long drink of his coffee and shook his head. "You call yourself a New Yorker and you root for the Red Sox?"

They were sitting in the back booth of a tiny Vietnamese place a few blocks from Karen’s apartment. Frank saved one of the delivery boys from getting robbed a few months back and so the owner, a tiny woman named Mary, kept sending the waitresses over with savory plates of fried _bánh xèo_ and steaming curry noodles that made Karen's mouth water. They met to discuss a few bank robberies that had taken place last week, but had drifted to talking about baseball of all things.

"I wouldn't say I actively  _root_ for them. We don't have any real sports teams in Vermont so the Sox were just the closest option," Karen admitted. A memory tugged at the back of her mind and for once it didn't quite hurt. "Kevin loved them though. When we ware kids we went to Boston for a class trip one time and all he cared about was seeing Fenway. He went on about it for weeks."

The faintest hint of a smile touched Frank''s lips. "It's a nice stadium--old as hell, so I'll give him that."

"So why should I switch to being a Mets fan?" She asked. "Besides of course, the fact that being a Sox fan makes me a disgrace to all of New York?"

"You shouldn't. They haven't won a World Series since '86," Frank snorted. "But Maria, she was a Queens girl all the way. Made me toss out all my Yankees shit when we started dating."

"Wow, she didn't mess around," Karen laughed. "How'd you take it?"

He shrugged. "Was for my own good. Her father would've killed me if he saw a Yankees fan with his daughter. So I learned to love the Mets."

 "And you still do," she said, nodding at the faded baseball cap obscuring the top half of his face from passersby.

Frank's lip twitched only slightly before his slight smile faded. Like so many anecdotes concerning the dead, the moment fizzled and stretched into uncomfortable silence.

 _Right_. For a few minutes Karen had almost forgotten who they were. It was easy to do lately, sipping coffee together at her favorite cafe, sitting a few inches apart on her couch while Frank pretended to not watch her favorite show. But then the inevitable happened: a murmured warning not to investigate the docks tomorrow night, a man passing by wearing a tailored suit and glasses, a story about a dead wife. A sharp reminder that she wasn't supposed to be grinning like an idiot at his jokes and sneaking sidelong glances.

So Karen cleared her throat and moved on to the next thing she'd been meaning to ask him about before they got sidetracked by the dreaded Boston Red Sox. "Hey, do you run into Matt a lot?”

Frank effectively snapped out of whatever memory he was stuck in and eyed her warily before taking a bite of noodles. “Here and there. Why?”

Karen shrugged. “I talked to Foggy last week and I realized I haven't seen him in a while. I just wanted to make sure he's okay, you know? You probably see him more than I do actually.”

“Lucky me,” he replied in a curmudgeonly way that brought a small smile to her lips. “If you see him around, tell him to take that Billy club out of his ass.”

“Did he give you that?” her smile fell as she gestured to the ugly purple and yellow blotch staining his left cheekbone. She had certainly seen him wear worse, but it stung just looking at it.

Frank grunted a confirmation. “Popped me when I was lining up a shot on some cartel guy the other night. Asshole should've been in the ground, now he's just gonna do fifteen years. Maybe less if he gets out on good behavior.” He said the last part with a sneer, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

“What did he do?” Karen asked quietly. She wasn't sure she really wanted to know, but she told herself she had to. If she was going to continue this strange relationship, exchanging information on criminals over coffee and pizza and lying to her friends, she had to face what he did. Karen needed to be able to look at herself in the mirror in the morning.

The muscles in his jaw jumped as he glared past her at some unseen memory, the hard panes of his face sharper, more pronounced. Meanwhile his knuckles grew white as he gripped his glass. The silence that stretched between them made goosebumps shudder across her skin.

“You don't wanna know the details,” he rumbled finally, his muddy brown eyes meeting hers. “But anyone who hurts their wife and kid doesn't deserve to see the light of day. Not even from a jail cell.”

Karen’s skin crawled. She knew firsthand what it was like to have a monster for a parent. When her father died she was flooded with so many conflicting emotions, the most overwhelming one _relief._ After all the times she went to school with bruises and none of her teachers said a word, after all the visits from social services that never amounted to anything but hissed promises of worser punishments, she was finally _free_. Was some poor little kid waiting in fear for the day his or her dad got out of jail and came back home?

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine,” she replied with a weak smile. She knew he didn't believe her for a second, but he didn't push her.

Sometimes she wondered if he held back around her the way she did him; both of them treating the other like some wounded animal one step away from snapping or running off with its tail tucked between its legs. Or was she the only one who bit back questions, dismissing them as too soon or not her place?

Frank just nodded and turned back to his noodles. “So yeah, I ain’t exactly thrilled with him right now. Blind bastard.”

Karen sighed. As strained and awkward as her relationship with Matt was, she knew he meant well. He always _meant_ well. “He just did what he thought was best.”

“Yeah, what was best for his conscience, not what’s best for that shitbag’s wife and kid,” he snapped.

“Matt will do it his own way,” she insisted. “He'll help them get a restraining order and make sure this guy doesn't get a deal. He wouldn't...he wouldn't just leave them high and dry.”

“If you say so.”

“He will.”

Frank’s jaw was tight as he looked away, glancing back toward the entrance of the restaurant. Always _on patrol._  “So what, you thinkin’ about giving him another chance?”

Karen’s cheeks burned. “What? _No_. Why would you think that?”

 _Jesus_. Did he think she doodled Mrs. Murdock in her notebooks all day. How desperate did she seem? Karen considered pointing out that she had been on a date since the whole Matt...thing, but the fact that her date was a podcaster who wouldn't stop asking about Frank just made it feel even more pathetic. _Gah_.

“You brought him up. And got defensive about him.” Frank shrugged nonchalantly, but his eyes raked over her sharply, searching her nearly as effectively as Matt could.

But there were no tiny gasps or dilated pupils or accelerated heart rates today. She was almost sure he couldn't sense the last one, but she couldn't rule out anything when it came to Frank. Especially not his uncanny ability to piss her off.

“Let me get this straight: because I asked about him and didn't jump at calling him an asshole, you think I-I want to date him or something?” She hissed. “Seriously, Frank?”

Frank snorted. “Don’t act like it's outta left field. You were in love with him.”

“Yeah, before I found out he’s in love with someone else!” It didn't matter that Elektra died four months ago. Frank of all people would know that didn't mean a damn thing. “And even if he wasn't, I wouldn’t be interested. I didn't know him and honestly, he didn't really know me either. And if he did know me, I don't...I don't think he would like me.”

“What's not to like?”

His voice, low and a little hoarse, was so earnest. If anyone else asked her that, they might have followed the question with a smirk or a little mischievous glint in their eye. If anyone else asked her that, she might have thought there was something there. But not Frank. Never Frank. His brows furrowed genuinely over concerned eyes.

God, he really didn't see. He saw _everything,_ yet he couldn't see the darkest, shittiest parts that she'd been hiding. Karen didn't know if she was relieved or disappointed.

“I….” she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. “It's complicated.”

“Everyone's complicated," he said dismissively. Not exactly fair seeing as _he_ was about a thousand times more complicated than the average person, but she let it slide. "It have anything to do with that .380 you got tucked in your purse?”

Karen’s fingers smoothed over her purse involuntarily at the mere mention of it. _Yes._

“It might.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

It was so tempting to just tell him, to finally let it all bubble to the surface. She was so sick of waking up in the middle of the night, sweating and screaming, expecting Wilson Fisk to step out of the shadows and snap her neck. If anyone understood what she was going through, it would be Frank.

But what if he didn't?

Wesley hadn't killed her family. He wasn't even armed when she shot him. She could have fired a warning shot, maybe given him an ultimatum. But she didn't. She shot him in the chest eight times and she didn't regret it. She refused to. Did that make her just another scumbag in Hell’s Kitchen?

Karen had been slowly preparing herself for the day when Matt found out what she'd done; she could already hear the aghast sound of his voice and see the way his face would crumble. But the thought of Frank’s eyes darkening with disappointment, his lips moving into a tight, thin line as he realized what she _really_ was, made her chest constrict painfully.

“Remember that night in the diner?"

"Pretty hard to forget," Frank murmured. 

Of course. He did bludgeon a guy to death that night in front of her and a terrified kitchen staff. Karen shivered.

"I told you then that Matt...that he hurts people. B-but what if I hurt people too? Not like he does, with lying or some secret life. But what if I-I actually _hurt_ someone?" she croaked. Karen bit down painfully on her bottom lip. "Frank, if-if you knew what I've done, I don't think you would like me either."

Of course she was presuming a lot by thinking he even liked her to begin with. The only real confirmation he enjoyed her company was him saying he didn't want her dead. (Though that _was_ pretty flattering by Punisher standards). But at least he didn't deny it. Frank simply folded his arms over his chest and leaned forward over the table, imploring her to meet his gaze.

“Try me.”

“I…” Molten brown eyes searched hers from less than a foot away. She was hyper aware of the crease in Frank’s brows and the way his lips parted slightly, as if working on a puzzle he was so close to putting together. It was like the diner all over again, but this time there were no gunman to send her running into the kitchen. No ugly sobbing and bloody broken bodies on the floor. Just Frank, seeing more than anyone else, more than she ever wanted anyone to see.

_Shit._

“I can't,” she breathed. “I'm sorry.”

Frank nodded and sat up straighter, no longer leaning towards her. For maybe a fraction of a second, Karen swore she saw disappointment flash in his eyes. But when she blinked his expression was calm and impassive once more. “Okay. You don't have to tell me.”

“I’m sorry,” she babbled again, equal parts embarrassed and ashamed. “I'm an idiot. Why are we even talking about this? We were talking about Matt and the cartel guy and just totally got side--”

“It's fine,” he said in a clipped tone. “Like I said that night in your kitchen--you don't owe me shit. Forget it."

"Okay," Karen said weakly.

The meal ended fairly quickly after that, with Frank muttering that he needed to go back to "work" and that he would see her around. He dropped some bills on the table and strode out the front door by the time Karen put on her coat. _Ouch_. Awkward didn't begin to cover it.

Karen forced a smile and mouthed a thank you to the waitstaff before following in Frank's wake. He was already gone, faded into the night by the time the cool autumn air fanned across her face. She pulled her peacoat closer with a groan and trudged in the direction of her building. _Dammit_.

She should have been relieved he let it go, that he respected the thin boundaries she was so ardently clinging to. But she just felt guilty.

Maybe she should have just told him and got it over with. Quick, like ripping off a bandaid:  _Ikilledsomeone._

Right. Who was she kidding? She couldn't tell him. Because if his nose wrinkled and his brows furrowed and he saw her like he saw Grotto or any one of the dozens of people he killed for things just as bad as what she'd done, it would _destroy_ her. Because she _liked_ him. She really really fucking _liked_ him. 

Karen choked out a hollow laugh and kicked a crumpled soda can lying on the sidewalk. When had Frank Castle sunk so deeply under her skin? And when did she become such a _goddamn idiot?_

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so so sorry for the huuuuge gap between chapters. Thank you to everyone who is still reading! I promise the next one will come soon! Also, sorry for the way too brief mention of Marci. She'll definitely make a longer appearance later. :)

Lawyers partied hard. Like _way_ too hard for Karen. She thought Marci’s birthday party would be a low-key night at a quiet bar. Who goes hard for a 34th birthday?

  
Lawyers. As it turns out, lawyers go hard for a 34th birthday.

  
She could barely keep up with Marci and her two friends from Hogarth, Chao  & Benowitz—a high heeled, high cheekboned and fast talking blonde named either Melanie or Melody, and a pouty lipped curvaceous redhead named Hannah. She had two tequila shots and a glass of champagne and she was still three drinks behind them all by the time they stumbled out of the hip jazz club around one a.m. Thank God for Foggy and his insistence on ordering glasses of water for them every few minutes.

  
Not that it had done much for poor Jessica Rabbit-esque Hannah, who’s mascara was running down her face as she wailed about an ex-boyfriend. Melanie/Melody had been wise enough to slip out with one of the saxophone players around midnight and Karen was seriously envious. She thought after college she’d never have to listen to a girl cry over an ex over shots of tequila again.

  
“Honey, he dumped you at the Olive Garden two years ago. I love you but this is just, like, super sad. Like realllly sad,” Marci slurred as she guided her friend out of the bar. She pat her back soothingly. “Come on, let’s get a cab. Come on, come on.”

  
“He-he didn't even--he didn't even wait for the b-breadsticks,” Hannah cried through short, wobbly breaths. “Who does that?”

  
Karen lingered by the entrance with Foggy as Marci flagged down a cab while comforting her friend. They looked at each other with raised brows.

  
“I mean, she does have kind of a point. Dick move on the breadsticks,” Foggy said in an overly serious tone, fighting back a grin.

  
“Some garlic bread would definitely have softened the blow.” Karen nodded sternly.

  
At that, they both finally broke into laughter. They grinned at each other like they used to while talking smack while playing pool at Josie’s after a long day at the firm, or like the time an unknowing Matt met with an especially eccentric client dressed only in a jacket, boots, and oversized white underwear. The memory made her laugh even harder, making her cheeks hurt and her eyes water.

  
Foggy regained his composure first and surveyed her with a smile. “You're really sure you don't want to ride with us? I know it's tempting.”

  
They both glanced ahead at Marci as she argued with an angry cab driver about whether Hannah (who was still sobbing over Chad from Olive Garden) would puke. “She hurls, you pay for car cleaning!”

  
Karen bit her lip. “I thiiiink I'm just going to take the train. Thanks though.”

  
“Before you lecture me, I know you're fully capable of taking care of yourself.” Foggy held up a hand. “But, are you sure you'll be okay? I can get you an uber.”

  
Karen considered it. The champagne and tequila shots were making her A little sleepy (Was 31 officially old? _Shudder_ ), and she wasn't especially relishing the idea of the train ride with the drunken one a.m. crowd. But as she opened her mouth to agree, she spotted a familiar silhouette lingering in an alley across the street, sipping from a styrofoam coffee cup.

  
_Frank_.

  
He met her eyes through the crowd of smoking hipsters loitering outside the bar. It had only been two weeks but he looked different, a little rougher around the edges. The short stubble along his jaw had grown into the beginnings of a beard and the bruise on his cheek had faded, replaced by a purple cut on his bottom lip. He still stood out amongst the other laughing, chatty crowds, even in the shadows. He was letting her see him. Did he have information? A question about one of the pieces she wrote last week? Or did he just want to see her?

  
It wasn’t unusual for him to disappear for a while. After all, they did go three months without seeing each other. But this was undeniably about their non-moment in the restaurant. She should have been honest with him and they both knew it. He could pretend it didn’t matter, but she saw the slight flash of hurt in his eyes. 

  
“Uh Karen? Should I call an uber?”

  
“No! No, it's fine. I'm just going to take the, um, train,” she insisted, forcing her eyes back to Foggy. “Thank you for inviting me. I had a really great time."

  
“I'm glad. It was good to see you laughing and having fun.”

  
She was itching to see Frank and find out why he was there, but that statement gave her pause. “Do I not normally seem like I'm having fun?”

  
“You do now. But for a while…..” Foggy shrugged a little too casually. “We both threw ourselves into work to get through everything that happened this summer. But I’ve been worried about you. The Punisher case took a lot out of you. And after everything with Matt…”

  
“Foggy, I’m fine,” she snapped a little too sharply. _Yeah, because that’s definitely how people who are fine act._ Karen rubbed her temples. “No. I’m sorry. Things have been different and I’m just having trouble adjusting, I guess. But it’s not a big deal."

  
“I know. I totally get that. But for a while it was like you were barely sleeping or eating or doing anything besides working. You didn't even laugh at my jokes—which is definitely a big deal,” he added with a rueful smile.

  
“I laughed,” she insisted weakly.

  
“But it didn't meet your eyes.”

  
Was she really that bad? Karen knew she was hardly the poster child for positive mental health, but she hadn't realized how thoroughly she'd alienated herself. She told herself she just needed time: time to get over Matt; time to process he was Daredevil; time to establish herself at the Bulletin; time to stop having nightmares about Wesley; time to stop worrying about Frank Castle.

  
“I'm sorry, Foggy. I never meant to worry you,” she sighed. “I was just dealing with a lot of stuff.”

  
“But you know you don't have to deal with it alone,” Foggy said gently. “You have people who can help. Me, Marci...even Matt when he's not busy doing his Bruce Lee routine on rooftops.”

  
She thought of the picture of her and Kevin now sitting on her bookshelf as her eyes flickered to Frank. He was way too far to hear them, but he watched her intently. “I'm starting to get that. Slowly.”

  
“Well I'm glad I got to hear you laugh for real today.”

  
“Even my dorky snort?”

  
“Especially your dorky snort.”

  
*

  
Karen waited until Foggy and Marci hauled her drunken friend into the cab and watched it drive off before taking off across the street to the alley Frank was lurking in.

  
“You're a sight for sore eyes." She grinned, taking in his arched eyebrow and his arms folded cooly over his black jacket and t-shirt. She felt light, a little giddy and nervous after not seeing him for so long (and okay, maybe from that last shot of Tequila). “Where's Ponyboy and Sodapop?”

Frank snorted and rolled his eyes. “Rest of the gang couldn't make it. Guess you're stuck with me.”

  
“Where to?” She tried not to sound too eager as he pushed off the brick wall and began walking.

  
“Your place? I, uh, planned on walkin’ you home safe, but it's a little cold. If you wanna take the train…”

  
“I don't mind. Let's go.”

  
The bite of the wind didn't feel so harsh with him at her side. Especially after he remembered that she had plans and took the time to make sure she was okay. A tiny treacherous voice in the back of her head was bouncing off the walls. _He likes you_ , it whispered. _He cares about you. He remembers things about you._

  
No. That was dumb. She hadn't heard from him in two weeks. He wanted more distance after she shut down the other week. Her ego had to be huge to assume him making sure she got home without being murdered was a sign of affection.

  
“Nelson looks like he’s doing well,” Frank commented after a few moments of confortable silence.

  
“Yeah. He has a great girlfriend--not that he realizes she's his girlfriend yet. Plus a fancy office at a big firm. It turns out your, um, trial sort of worked out alright for him,” she said carefully.

  
Frank's jaw tightened at the mention of the clusterfuck known as his trial. She wondered if those wild brown eyes had seen her that last day in the courthouse, her heart sinking as he spat obscenities and screamed he'd do it all again. She'd tried to meet his eyes, to ask him what the goddamn hell he was doing, but he'd looked everywhere but her, thrashing and yelling like an animal as they dragged him out.

  
“‘S’good,” Frank said quietly. “Never wanted to hurt your careers. Not even Murdock’s. But I had to get into that prison. I had to know.”

  
Even if it meant jeopardizing their careers and making them look like idiots, throwing away countless hours of work and the sheer _miracles_ they managed earlier in his trial. Even if it meant the world thinking he was just a violent psychopath and a terrorist. Even if it meant putting himself in prison and risking his life with a true psychopath like Fisk.

  
“You okay?” Frank asked in a soft rumble.

  
“Yeah. Just thinking about your trial,” she mumbled. She thought she was over it, but the anxieties rising inside her spoke otherwise. “You know, you could have told me about Fisk. We could have worked together and figured something out. He could have killed you.”

  
Frank barked out a laugh, low and dangerous. Not like his usual chuckle that lit up his face and pulled the corners of his lips up just a fraction. “When I get taken out, it sure as fuck ain't gonna be by Fat Boy.”

  
“When?” Karen asked hoarsely. But she hadn't misheard him. Not _if_ , but _when_ he got taken out.

  
“Figure I've got more than a few bullets with my name on ‘em,” he shrugged, like he was talking about getting summoned to jury duty instead of his impending violent death. “Maybe I should be afraid of what comes next. But I'm not.”

  
She could tell he wasn't lying either. He stood tall, with no hesitation in his voice or unease in his expression. If only Karen felt the same. Her fingers shook at her sides and her stomach churned uncomfortably.

  
She pictured Frank bleeding out in some gutter, cold and alone. A husband, father, and soldier with no one to hold his hand. Maybe she'd be across town, getting drinks with Foggy and Marci. Would she feel an ache in her chest as the light left his eyes, would she know it was over? That her friend was gone? The thought made her blood run cold.

  
“You're not...you're not being reckless are you?” she whispered. Karen stopped outside of the storefront of a closed down electronics store, unable to go on until he answered the question she was too afraid to ask: _are you trying to get yourself killed?_

  
Frank let out a long sigh, glaring absently at the cars honking and speeding by and the groups of college kids and late night partiers laughing and smoking as they passed. He was far away again, maybe in simpler times with his wife and kids or in some distant memory of hot sand and desert winds.

  
Finally he rubbed a hand along his prickly jaw and faced her hesitantly. His lips were tugged down in a slight frown but his eyes softened as his gaze fell on her face.

  
“No. I'm not being reckless. Not now. Not for a long time.”

  
“Okay.” She blinked once, twice, pulling herself together. “Okay. Good.”

  
They set off again, but Karen's steps felt slow and uncertain. Maybe he wasn't trying to get himself killed, but his dismissal of Fisk was reckless all the same. The man was a snake: cold, cunning, and more brutal than anyone could guess at first glance.

  
“You should be more afraid of Wilson Fisk,” Karen said quietly. She hated the way her voice shook at the mention of his name, hated that he still had that power over her, even from behind bars. “He killed my--my friend. The one whose car I had, with all the funk tapes. Fisk found out we were digging into his past for the Bulletin and he m-murdered him.”

This time it was Frank who stopped walking. He stepped in her path and placed his heavy hands on her shoulders, searching her face with dark eyes. But Karen wasn't crying. Not because of Wilson Fisk. Not ever again. She cried for Ben and his wife. She cried for herself when she killed Wesley. He haunted her dreams, sent chills down her spine even from a prison cell, but she wouldn't let herself cry in fear over that monster. She bit her lip hard. _Get it together, Karen._

  
“Ma’am,” Frank rumbled. Her stormy blue eyes met his and he dropped his hands, letting them curl into fists. “He ain't ever getting near you. Shitbag’s been livin’ on borrowed time since I met him. He just doesn't know it yet.”

  
She appreciated his confidence but she knew better than to waive her problems away for other people to handle, no matter how much she trusted Frank. If Wilson Fisk came for her, she would be ready. She didn’t go anywhere without her pistol. And her aim was pretty damn good.

  
Karen forced a bitter smile. “Can I at least get a few kicks in before you kill him?”

  
A wry smirk crossed his face as he shook his head. “Always knew you had a mean streak underneath those big doe eyes and pencil skirts.”

  
Oh Lordy. She knew he was talking about what was under her surface. Not what was under her skirt. She _knew_ that. But her cheeks and ears burned and the soft rasp of his words tingled along her skin. _Big doe eyes and pencil skirts_. Is that what he saw when he looked at her? She figured he just saw a big pain in the ass that occasionally made him laugh.

  
_It's the tequila_ , Karen told herself. It was the only explanation for why she suddenly felt so hot in her emerald green peacoat. She thanked every possible deity in the universe for the darkness that covered her blushing face.

  
Yet as bad as a slightly buzzed Karen wanted to swim indulgently through a universe where Frank Castle noticed her blue eyes and snug skirts, her gut latched painfully onto the other half of his sentence. _Always knew you had a mean streak_ ….God, he had no idea.

  
When they reached her building a few minutes later she took a deep breath and lingered on her stoop.

  
Just a few months ago she'd kissed a vigilante, a man she thought she knew, right out here in the rain. It was like a scene straight from one of the romantic comedies she used to love in high school. At the time she thought it was one of the best moments of her life. A kind, funny, sexy lawyer liked her. She couldn't believe her luck.

Now she stood in front of another vigilante, a known killer, and well, not exactly a nice guy, about to share one of her most shameful secrets. Somehow this felt more intimate. 

  
“I’m sorry,” she croaked. “The other week at the restaurant…”

  
“Nothing for you to be sorry about.” His faint smile faded and he tucked his hands into the pocket of his jeans awkwardly. “It doesn’t matter.”

  
“It does matter. You keep saying that, but it does.” She refused to be intimidated by his sharp gaze and the tick of his jaw. Karen took a breath and continued.

  
“I've seen the meanest, ugliest parts of you. Stuff that I know you were ashamed to let people see.” She thought of man at the diner, broken and bloody beyond recognition. She heard the painful screams of the boy in the courtroom. _He was my dad and now he’s gone! You killed him!_ Frank winced almost imperceptibly, as if reading her mind. But he stood silently across from her as she continued.

  
“And I stood here like some kind of—of perfect princess, like I've never done anything terrible or wrong, telling you that y-you should be in jail. After _I_ —”

  
Her voice cracked and she looked up at the starless indigo sky to keep her tears from spilling out the corner of her eyes.

  
“Karen.” Frank took a step closer at the crack in her voice, his words gentle. “You don't have to tell me this. You don't…you don’t owe me anything.”

  
He put her job in jeopardy at least twice, got her shot at, kidnapped, destroyed her car, and sent her on a wild goose chase to find a dog. Realistically, he owed her a lot. But she felt indebted to him all the same. He listened to her, let her cry beside him over her dead brother. He never lied to her. And he let her see parts of him, little slivers of who he once was, that made her stomach flip and her eyes water. She didn't know his favorite color or what his parents were like, but she knew him down to his bones. And it killed her a little that he didn’t know her. That no one really knew her.

  
“I do though. And I'm sick of carrying this—this fucking weight. This guilt.” Karen took a deep shuddering breath. “I need to tell you. I _want_ to tell you."

  
This was it. A turning point. Either he understood and they moved on….or he called her a fucking lying hypocrite and he left her life forever. No more late night coffees and bad TV. No more secretly looking up puppies on petfinder on her lunch breaks. No more tiny smirks and murmured tips on articles she was working on.

  
_No pressure at all_. She swallowed and met Frank’s somber eyes. _Just like ripping off a bandaid._

  
“I killed someone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger!
> 
> Also, regarding the scene where Matt unknowingly has a meeting with a guy in his underwear--I assume he can't see clothing. But even if he knew, I guess he would have to play along anyway or admit he's not blind, so let's go with it! :P


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen confesses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who's still reading and putting up with these super late chapters! It means a lot to me. Hope you like this one. I've had a really tough time writing it and it didn't end the way I planned it to.

“Get inside,” Frank growled. He dragged her inside by her elbow and followed close behind as she jogged upstairs to her place.

 _Shit shit shit_. Karen’s hands shook as she dug through her purse for her keys. She was hyper aware of his restless energy at her back. Frank was pissed and she guessed she couldn't blame him. _Shit_.

When she finally got inside, he kicked the door shut behind him and stalked into the kitchen. She sat at the kitchen table like a perp in the interrogation room, biting her nails and avoiding his eyes.

That first day in the hospital, when he told her she was never in any danger while she was protecting Grotto, she thought he was full of shit. _Class 307 at Quantico, my ass._ He didn't seem too keen on making sure she wasn't hurt when he was shooting at their heads. But now, half a year and what felt like a lifetime later, she knew she wasn't in danger. He didn't lie to her, not even back then. She would never be in danger with Frank. Yet her stomach still churned with anticipation for his reaction.

“Okay,” Frank began. He took a seat across from her and leaned in close. “What did you do with the body? Is it hidden or do we gotta move it?”

Her head snapped up and she stared at him dumbly. “W-What?”

Frank continued as if going through a mental checklist. “Any witnesses? Loose ends we need to talk to? What about the weapon?”

Karen realized she was gaping at him open-mouthed like she wasn't all there. She promptly closed her mouth with an audible snapped and blinked to make sure he was serious, that this was actually happening. She looked for any sign of anger or repulsion and found….nothing. Frank’s bruised face was calm and smooth, with no furrowed brows or angry creases. He just studied her with those dark eyes, going through all the motions of covering up a murder for her.

“You don't...you don't want to know who it was? Or why?”

“You wouldn't have done it if it didn't need to be done,” he shrugged.

Karen felt like her brain was soaked in molasses as she processed this. She told Frank Castle, murderer of murderers, the freaking _Punisher_ , that she killed someone….and he shrugged. As if she told him she shoplifted a piece of candy in elementary school or didn't pay her train fare. He actually _shrugged_.

He was willing to hide a damn body for her….He was literally offering to help her get away with murder without hesitation. Karen wasn't sure which one of them was more deranged as her heart swelled almost painfully in her chest.

Frank took her shaking hands in his. His expression was hard, filled with too much conflict to ever be sweet or tender, but his thumbs gently traced the skin of her knuckles.

“Karen-”

That did it. Her name on his lips, low and rough but with so much warmth. Karen’s vision swam as fat tears cascaded down her face. She pulled her hands away and swiped at her cheeks in vain, even as more tears quickly followed. Her breaths came out in short watery gasps, going into actual sobbing territory. _Oh no. Not again_.

“I--I’m sorry,” she hiccuped. “I'm a-always crying l-like a baby around you. I don’t know what’s w-wrong with me.”

“There ain’t nothing wrong with you.”

She could only see a frowning black swirl through her tears, but was aware of his chair scraping back as he got up and disappeared momentarily. When he came back he knelt beside her and gently pushed a tissue in her hand and surveyed her seriously.

“Whoever the prick was, he ain't worth cryin’ over.”

She laughed miserably, dabbing her eyes as more tears rolled down her face. “That's not why I'm crying.”

If only she were crying over Wesley. Things would be so much easier.

Karen was crying because never, ever, in a million years did she think someone would react to her confession by holding her hand and being there for her, with no yelling or judgements. She didn't want to think about how much that meant to her. She couldn't right now. It was too big to process while her heart was pounding in her ears and sad, crazy girl sobs wracked her chest.

Luckily Frank didn't question her further. He just held her gaze with an unreadable expression. Finally a muscle in his cheek jumped and he got to his feet. “Alright,” he said as he sat across from her once more. “Let's talk about it.”

Frank listened intently as she ran through the story of her final encounter with James Wesley. She told him everything--going to jail because of Union Allied, convincing Ben to write about Fisk, talking to Fisk’s ailing mother, and finally getting threatened by Wesley and putting eight bullets in his chest. By then she couldn't stop talking. She told him about throwing the gun in the Hudson River and crying in the shower until she puked, and the way Ben was murdered by Fisk after publishing the exposé she pushed him to write. She even told him about the recurring nightmares--Fisk’s meaty hands wrapped around her neck, squeezing her until she woke up sweating and gasping.

Frank was quiet for the most part, occasionally asking questions and making sounds of approval, like when she said she threw the gun into the river. His face was an expressionless mask, but she didn't miss the way his knuckles clenched white when she talked about the way Wesley had practically laughed in her face when she turned the gun on him.

When she was done, he took her rumpled tear-stained tissue and threw it in the trash before opening the cabinet above her sink and taking out her half-empty bottle of whiskey. He placed it on the table between them with a thud.

“Listen to me,” Frank said. He leaned forward, his voice a low rasp. “I ain’t too good at this kinda thing. But whatever you've been thinking about yourself--that you’re a bad person or something. It's not true. Not even close.”

Karen swallowed the lump in her throat and looked nervously up at her stained ceiling, partly to hold back tears and partly because his words and the intensity of his dark eyes were making her stomach do somersaults.

“You d-don’t understand,” she said quietly. “I had his gun. I had control. I could have taken his phone and called the police. I could have ran. This wasn’t—it wasn’t some kind of fight or flight situation where I acted on instinct. I knew what I was doing. And if I could go back, I’d do the exact same thing. I’d kill him every single time, Frank.” Because no one—no one—would use her to hurt the people she loved. Never again. She’d made that promise after Kevin’s death and she planned on keeping it.

“You’re being an idiot,” he said sharply enough to make her jaw clench. Frank leaned close enough for her to see flecks of gold in his brown eyes. “Forget whatever self-hating bullshit you’ve been told by Red or Nelson or whoever. Only one person was walking out of that room alive and hell if I’ll let you feel bad that it was you.”

A few years ago she would have been hurt, too blinded by the harsh words to see the emotion burning in those coal eyes. But she was tougher now, thick-skinned thanks to this beautiful, terrible city and everything she’d been through. And maybe thanks to Frank.

He made her feel like a fighter, a survivor. He touched her like something delicate, but he didn't talk down to her or treat her like she was fragile or helpless. He didn't tell her what she should have done or that she was wrong or bad. He listened. He trusted her. He didn’t think she was broken inside. And more importantly, he wouldn’t let her think she was broken inside. Her eyes were watering again. _Jesus_.

Karen swallowed back the confusing emotions threatening to overtake her and forced a weak smile. “I don't know whether to punch you or hug you. Do you warn everyone against being an idiot or just me?”

The tiny hitch in the corner of his mouth was her only answer. The only answer she really needed. Without a word, Frank grabbed the whiskey, unscrewed the cap and took a long swig before sliding it across the table to her.

Karen raised a brow. “We’re skipping glasses?”

There was a hint of humor in his voice, but that same intensity in his eyes. “Why dirty two dishes?”

Karen hesitated. It felt strangely intimate to be drinking from the bottle his lips had just been on, but she wasn't about to insist on a glass. Her sensibilities weren't that delicate. _Clearly_ , she thought, eyeing sad state of the half empty bottle she’d demolished over the last couple months. But still. Any more and she’d be waking up with a headache tomorrow...

 _Ah, hell_. If there was ever a time to drink too much, it was definitely after confessing to a murder. And with her emotions going haywire, she probably needed something to take the edge off.

She managed a long sip with only a little wince. Thank god. After all the crying tonight, she needed to retain some respect. But he didn’t notice, already taking another swig the moment she was done.

“Better not finish that, Frank. I don't think I can carry you home.” Wherever that was. He could live in New Jersey for all she knew. “You can crash on my couch but I don't think you'll fit.”

Yet the image of Frank dozing on her tiny blue couch, his hair sleep-mussed and his heavy boots hanging off the edge, brought a small smile to her face. She wondered what that hard, bruised face would look like while he slept. Did he ever let his guard down enough for his expression to soften? Or did he sleep with a frown, pissed off even in sleep?

“I’ll be fine,” he grunted. He looked the exact opposite of fine, tapping his fingers restlessly against the table and glaring at the whiskey bottle. He took another drink before she even had her turn.

“Will you?” Karen asked. She snatched the whiskey and held it hostage on her side of the table. “Because right now you look like you’re going to snap.”

His eyes moved slowly over her face. “Does that scare you?”

_Do I scare you?_

Not the way he thought he did. The way he looked at her made her throat dry and her cheeks burn. _Like being naked under fluorescent lights…._ There was nothing sexual about it. Nothing romantic. Yet her pulse skyrocketed under his heavy gaze. As if he really had stripped her down until there was nothing between them. No secrets, no lies. Just the weight of his heavy gaze.

“No,” she murmured. “But I’m scared for you. What are you thinking about?”

“How I should’ve killed that fat fuck when I had the chance.” Frank’s voice was low and rough. His hand stilled and curled into a fist. “If I’d known what you went through, what his piece of shit crony tried to do to you...”

“Frank.” A low warning as he stood up and began pacing the kitchen.

“I wouldn’t’ve left until he was in the goddamn ground. I’d have—”

“You would have left in a body bag,” Karen snapped.

She stood up and crossed the distance between them until the toe of her heels nearly touched his heavy boots. She was walking a dangerous line between buzzed and drunk but she forced steel into her voice as she met his rigid expression. “Listen to me this time, Frank. _You’re_ being an idiot. Fisk owns everyone in that prison. If you went after him, you would have been killed. And,” she added because she knew him. “If you go back now you will be killed.”

There was a lot Karen could live with, a lot of bleak stuff she did live with. But she couldn't live with herself if Frank got himself killed because of her. As much as she wanted Wilson Fisk dead, as much as the dark, scarred part of her wanted desperately to never have to look over her shoulder or wake up screaming and clutching her neck, she knew she couldn't let him go through with it. Not now, not like this.

“I didn't tell you any of this so you'd go out guns blazing, looking to get revenge. I-I told you because you're my--my friend and the only other person who might understand,” Karen admitted.

If Karen thought Frank would produce a friendship bracelet from his heavy coat or pull her into a hug, she would have been sorely disappointed. In fact, his frown only seemed to deepen. Like she’d called him an asshole instead of one of the best things you can be to another person. But still, his glare seemed to soften slightly as he processed her words.

Just when Karen’s skin was beginning to itch in the heavy silence, Frank’s nostrils flared and he yanked his gaze away to the craggy bullet-strewn wall behind her.

“Fine. Fisk keeps running the show in prison. But like I said: he already signed his death warrant when he used my family. Only thing this changes is how slow it’ll be for him,” he grunted. He looked back at her with a promise in his dark gaze. “When he gets out, you won't ever have to worry about that piece of shit again. You got that?”

If she had been someone else, some bright-eyed girl who moved to the city to chase her dreams, she would have been terrified, even a little sick. Maybe she would have made another bid for his humanity, assured him that the law would handle Fisk.

But Karen wasn’t that girl. She’d never even had the chance to be that girl.

And standing only inches away from the deadliest person she’d ever met, breathing in that familiar scent of whiskey and faint mint soap, Karen felt safer than she had in years.

_Screw it._

Before she could overthink it, she closed the space between them and snaked her arms around Frank’s broad shoulders. She was a feminist. She could initiate her own damn hug. And okay, the whiskey and earlier drinks certainly helped ease any embarrassment.

Frank’s shoulders coiled tight and he stood absolutely still. For a moment, Karen felt a little nervous. Did she push too hard too fast? It almost felt like he was in pain. She was about to pull away, an apology on her lips, when Frank’s muscles eased slightly and two rough hands settled feather-light on her hips.

With her heels on they were the same height, but wrapped in the strength of his body, in his warmth, she didn’t feel lanky or awkward. She felt delicate, like something worth holding onto. It felt good in a way that made her pulse race and her chest ache. Her mind was buzzing with hundreds of questions and feelings, but for now she let them go, content with this moment.

Karen rested her forehead on his heavy shoulder and let out a deep breath, willing away thoughts of Wesley and Fisk and all the violence she’d had to go through so early in life. She was half drunk and exhausted, but some part of her knew this was important, that when she looked back on this night she wanted to remember this part.

“I wish I knew someone like you a long time ago,” she said against his thick coat.

They didn’t speak for a long time. They just stood silently in each other’s arms in her tiny kitchen, the only other sound her dripping sink and the distant hum of cars passing by. When Frank spoke, his breath was a quiet rasp that tickled her cheek and sent a jolt down her spine.

“Me too.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen’s investigative skills bite her in the ass. Plus she meets up with an old friend.

Karen froze at the door to her office and nearly dropped her latte. She narrowed her eyes, looked in, and looked back out at the newsroom.

  
It was barely 8 a.m., but the bullpen was humming with activity. Some people were shrugging off their coats at their desks, starting their shift just like her, while others were already speaking on their desk phones and typing away at their laptops. No one paid her any mind besides Indrani, who raised her eyebrows as she strode by with her own cup of coffee.

  
She was the lone female sports writer and the closest thing Karen had to a friend at the Bulletin besides Ellison. The other writers and copy editors were mostly polite, but there was an undeniable distance between them. In Ben’s old office, the office Ellison practically pushed at her despite having no journalism experience, she was like the weird girl who ate lunch in the bathroom and hung out with the teacher at recess. But breezy, easy-going Indrani didn't seem to care. She had her own column and veteran sports writers breathing down her neck. There was no competitive edge between them, just a few conversations here and there and some shared eye rolls at some of the over the top A&E writers. 

  
“Ooh flowers on a Wednesday morning. Anniversary?” She asked.

  
“Um, not that I know of. The last guy that came on to me was a homeless guy pushing a baby carriage full of empty beer cans.”

  
Indrani let out a musical laugh. “You’re so funny, Karen. I love that.”

  
Yeah, she wished she could say she was joking.

  
“Well, he’s either found you or someone else in your life is making a grand romantic gesture.” Indrani smirked and looked back at the arrangement on her desk. “I’m thinking it’s the latter.”

  
Karen frowned at the woman’s figure as she sauntered away. _A grand romantic gesture?_ It probably spoke volumes about how cynical she’d become, but she didn’t trust it for a minute.

  
She stepped into her office, closing the door carefully behind her. The neatly trimmed half dozen red roses sat in a glass vase on the middle of her desk, tied together with a white ribbon. They were pristine, and honestly, almost gaudy amongst the scattered papers and messy piles of folders stacked around her desk. Karen squinted at them, as if that would make their appearance any less puzzling.

  
Finally, she approached her desk and set her coffee down as she examined them. There was no note included (or envelope full of anthrax for that matter). Just a beautiful flower arrangement.

  
But who the hell sent them?

  
Her first thought was dumb enough to make her scoff as she plopped down in her worn out office chair. No, it couldn’t be _him_.

  
They’d only met up twice in the weeks since Marci’s birthday party and Karen’s teary confession. Once over burnt bodega coffee in a public park, and another time almost a week and a half later while she was walking home from work. They talked about the surge of violence happening in Harlem and whether it would trickle down to Hell’s Kitchen. They also talked about things that didn't matter. The weather. The crowds of tourists. The weather _again_.

  
It was stilted. Awkward. Somewhere between telling Frank her darkest secret and telling him that he was her friend, she'd crossed a line and she wasn't sure how to go back. Their relationship had never simple, but at least it was honest. Now she overthought every gesture and smile. And those unreadable dark eyes looked at her chin, her brow, her neck, but never her eyes.

  
She tossed and turned more nights than she cared to admit. _Why won’t he look at me?_

  
It was slowly driving her insane.

  
So no, the flowers definitely weren’t from Frank.

  
But the last person she’d even been on a date with had been….Jesus, nearly three months ago. Jake the podcaster who charmed her into a date after fixing her computer, but then wouldn’t stop asking about the Punisher case. If he hadn’t emailed her so many times afterward with dozens of follow up questions (Did he talk about his childhood? What did he think about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen? What was his relationship like with his mother?) she would have forgotten the whole thing. Karen thought she did a decent job of deflecting (No. He didn’t say. _What?_ ). But maybe he’d changed his tactic.

  
She had an idea on how to find out.

  
She looked up the Web Support phone number in the company directory and jotted it down before unplugging her computer. Oops. She rubbed her temples as she called down to their basement office, a little ashamed she was stooping to this level. Jake answered on the second ring and promised to be by her office in five minutes or less.

  
Not quick enough for her to avoid talking to Ellison.

  
He leaned in her doorway, holding a folder and wearing a wary expression. “Page, the editorial team meeting starts in three minutes. Are you coming?”

  
Karen gave an exaggerated shrug. “Can’t. Computer issue. I’m waiting for an IT person now.”

  
Her boss rolled his eyes so hard she feared they’d get stuck. “The one with the creepy murder obsession? The vlog guy? Please tell me you’re not going to do an interview about the Castle case. You really--”

  
“It’s a podcast, not a vlog. And _no_ ,” Karen insisted. She really didn’t feel like hearing another lecture about the Castle case. “I’m having computer issues.”

  
“Right. Well, when your computer issues are resolved, head to the conference room. You’re part of the team, Karen. You should be there.” He gave her a pointed look.

  
Karen groaned. “Why do I feel like that’s the same look you give your kids when they get a C on a math quiz?”

  
“Because it is. Come to the meeting, Page. Or I‘m sending you upstate to write about a little podunk town’s pumpkin carving competition.”

“You wouldn’t.”

  
“I might.” Ellison ignored her narrow eyed glare and strode away. “Oh, and nice flowers by the way.”

  
As infuriating as he could be, Ellison was right. She was part of the team, and she should act like it. People would probably be warmer to her if she did. Yet part of her was still resistant. She was the one who pushed Ben into writing about Fisk, into talking to his mother. She wasn’t masochistic enough to blame herself for his death. But there was still guilt there. What if Fisk got released tomorrow and found out about her involvement in talking to his mother? What if one of his men saw her getting coffee with Indrani or one of the other writers? She’d rather be alone than to have to pack up another person’s desk for their family. No. it was better to keep her distance. 

  
“A little birdy told me you were having some issues with the old desktop.”

  
Karen nearly jumped out of her skin at the tall figure standing in the doorway. She held a hand to her chest as her mind slowly caught on to the fact that it was just her one time bad date, Jake the IT Guy. The guy obsessed with all things crime and murder and who apparently walked _really_ stealthily….

  
“ _Jesus_ ,” she muttered before she could catch herself. Karen stood up and offered a weak smile. “Sorry. Hi, Jake.”

  
“No probs, no probs. Good to see you, Karen,” he said with a grin.

  
He really was handsome. Not at all the overweight acne-ridden stereotype of a computer guy. He was her age, but had this boyish look to him. Tall and lean, bright eyes and dimpled smile. He wasn’t the worst person in the world to get flowers from. Even if he was a little.....quirky.

  
“It’s ah, good to see you too. So the problem is—“

  
“Is it with email?” He interjected. “‘Cause you know Kare, I’ve sent you a few that you haven’t gotten back to me on.”

  
“Um.” Karen bit the inside of her cheek. “Yeah, I have been having a few issues with email. I must have missed those...but I was actually having trouble turning my computer on. It’s the craziest thing. I was just on it typing an article and it totally shut down on me.”

  
“Huh that’s strange. I’ll take a look. Pardon me.”

  
He moved past her, walking right by the bouquet on her desk, and sat in her seat. He hit a few buttons, clicked the mouse a few times, and made a humming noise.  
Karen stood by the flowers, practically shooting lasers at him with her stare. _Look at the roses._ If she could just see his reaction, she’d know. And if it was him, her curiousity would be sated and she could go on avoiding his questions like the plague.

  
Finally he looked down and let out a laugh. “Uh, Karen. I think I know what the problem is.” He bent down and looked up with the cord in his hands. “Looks like someone accidentally unplugged it.”

  
“Oh jeez.” Karen let out an airy phony laugh that would have made her brother gag if he could see her now. “I don’t know how I managed to do that. I’m so sorry to waste your time!”

  
Jake plugged the computer back in, but as he stood and she shuffled to move out of his way, her hip _accidentally_  bumped her desk, nearly toppling over the roses. Jake threw his hands out to steady them.

  
“Got ‘em!” He laughed. “Almost ruined your flowers, Kare. I never knew you were so clumsy.”

  
Karen smiled tightly. She really didn’t like this _Kare_ thing. “I guess I’ve just been a little frazzled. These flowers just showed up on my desk this morning with no note or return address. It’s been super distracting.”

  
“Ah.” Jake gave her a knowing look. “I think I know what’s going on.”

  
Well. This was embarrassing. He didn’t seem to have sent the flowers and worse, he caught her trying to figure it out in a sneaky way. She should have flat out asked him, awkwardness be damned. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry. This was dumb. I guess I wasn’t as aloof as I was going for.”

  
“Not exactly. I mean, sending flowers to yourself and calling me up here to make me jealous? Not very mature, I gotta say.”

  
Uh, _what?_ Karen’s jaw dropped. “No, I—”

  
“It’s okay. I know you were trying to fight the spark between us after our date. I get it, you weren’t ready then. Something was holding you back.”

  
Karen’s cheeks grew redder and redder, her lips opening and closing soundlessly. _Please, let an alien attack happen right outside the office. Let a sinkhole swallow up half of New York._ Anything to get him to stop talking.

  
“I’m glad you let go of whatever it was, and I’m flattered that you’re interested. But it’s just a little too late,” he said. “I’m seeing someone actually. Molly from the Digital Design team. She’s...well, she’s pretty great. But I’d like to still be friends.”

  
Karen cleared her throat, trying to think of a way to exit the conversation gracefully now that the man she’d thought was obsessed with her now thought _she_ was obsessed with _him_. She quickly realized there definitely wasn’t.

  
“Y-yeah. Let’s be friends. That sounds...nice.”

  
“And I love to have my friends on my podcast, so if you have any time this weekend to—”

  
“Oo-Kay, thanks for coming up. Sorry to bother you with coming up here, but I really need to get to the editorial meeting.”

  
Jake followed her to her office door but lingered on the threshold. “You know, I’ve been studying the blood spatters from the shooting at the Dogs of Hell facility and I’ve got a theory there was more than one shooter. Are you sure the Punisher acted alone? My listeners also—”

  
“Sorry again for being immature. Thanks Jake!”

  
Karen shut the door in his face and let her back fall against it. Well, that’s what you get for being weird and evasive. Still, she glared at the flowers like it was their fault.

  
“Who the hell sent you?”

 

  
*

 

  
Karen didn’t make it to the editorial meeting. In fact, she didn’t stay in the office long after the disaster with Jake. She’d been editing an article while trying (and failing) to ignore the bundle of flowers on her desk when she got an email. She held her breath as she clicked on it.

  
Thankfully it wasn’t more questions from Jake. It was a woman named Regina who’d gotten in touch with her after reading her “Hero” article; her first piece for the Bulletin.

  
Her son Caleb, along with fourteen others in their neighborhood on Staten Island, were diagnosed with cancer after Rand Enterprises moved one of their largest chemical plants nearby. She talked with Regina for weeks over the phone and through email, and though all of her attempts to talk to anyone at Rand had been roadblocked, she was determined to find justice for the woman and her son. If she could spread their message, someone would have to help them. A carcinogenic chemical factory on Staten Island was something everyone in the city could rally behind shutting down. Karen just had to tell everyone about it.

  
Luckily, they were in Manhattan and wanted to meet. She typed a quick reply and practically sprinted out of the office to avoid Ellison’s death glare from the conference room. And for the next few hours, she forgot all about the bouquet sitting in her dark office.

 

  
*

 

  
Karen took a long sip of her gin and tonic and tried not to cry. She was at Josie’s, sitting at the bar and looking over her notes from the afternoon and her lashes were barely holding against the wetness gathering in her eyes. She kept thinking about Regina and Caleb.

  
She’d met them at a coffee shop near the Rand building and listened to Regina talk about what they’d been through over mostly untouched lattes. They went over photocopied documents: medical records, statements by the Rand CEOs claiming that their plant followed every legal protocol, and reports by the EPA. And while Caleb colored in a notebook a few tables away, Regina told Karen about his treatments and about a next door neighbor who just entered hospice. By the time they hugged goodbye, Karen was physically and emotionally exhausted, but more determined than ever.

  
“I’m going to make them pay,” she promised quietly as they stepped outside the restaurant. “Everyone in New York is going to know what they did.”

  
Regina didn’t flinch. Her red-rimmed eyes held all the anger of a protective mom. “Good.”

  
It wasn’t until Caeb gave her a color pencil drawing of smiling sun that she got close to breaking down.

  
She thanked him with a tight hug and promised to see them soon before tucking the picture into her purse. She kept her cool on the walk to the subway and the three stops to Josie’s. She held it together on the phone with Ellison while she gave him an update on the story and listened to him bitch about her missing the meeting.

  
But here, finally alone, or as alone as anyone can be in a crowded bar, she rested her elbows on the bar top and held her head in her hands.

  
_Don’t cry_ , she told herself as she hastily dabbed the corners of her eyes with a napkin. _Crying isn’t going to let Rand Enterprises know that they can’t get away with giving little kids cancer._

  
“Karen?”

  
_No, no, no. Not now._ Karen grimaced. She knew that voice but she wasn’t nearly prepared enough to turn around and face him.

  
“Karen, are you okay?”

  
_Right_. He could probably hear her sadness or smell her tears or something equally weird.

Karen cleared her throat and forced a smile, even though it was futile. Old habits. “Matt, hey. I, um, didn’t expect to see you here.”

  
It was true. Matt was a social drinker. Not the type to go to a bar unless she or Foggy were with him. He was always one of those freaks who let out his frustration in healthy ways like exercising and working. And as she learned later, _fighting crime on rooftops_. If she thought he’d be at Josie’s, she would have never chosen to blow off steam here.

  
Matt took the empty stool next to her, carefully resting his cane beside him. “I was in the neighborhood and I…” he paused as Josie set a beer down in front of him and walked away. “I thought I heard you.”

  
“I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that,” she admitted with a small laugh.

  
“I know, I know. It’s weird.” Luckily Matt laughed too and she was struck with a warmth she hadn’t felt for him in a long time.

  
Not the pulse-racing, lightheaded heat she felt when she first met him. Not the butterflies she used to get whenever he walked into a room. Just the familiar affection for someone she cared about. Her feelings for Matt Murdock were complex. There was passionate affection, but also intense heartbreak and rejection.

 _It’s complicated_ , she told Frank.

  
Of course he laughed in her face. Even back then, when they’d only ever spoken with handcuffs between them he knew her. _You love him._

  
Karen took in the sharp angles of his face, the soft curve of his smile, and the neat brown hair she used to yearn to run her fingers through. And for the first time in months, she realized, there was none of that emotional angst. Yeah, it was a little awkward, but she found she actually wasn’t unhappy to see him here.

  
“I’m glad you came in,” she said, cutting through all the fake nonchalant bullshit she usually reserved for exes. She didn’t want to play it cool. She just wanted a friend. “It’s been a tough afternoon.”

  
She ran through her meeting with Regina and even showed him the copies of some of the documents she gave her. He offered to help legally, but Regina already had a legal team that was volunteering their services. In the end, there simply wasn’t much he could do, but Karen felt better for having talked about it and had a few ideas on how she might start her article.

  
“This kind of work suits you,” Matt said. “I thought you would have been happier doing something less exciting after everything we went through with Fisk and Frank.” Karen’s heart jumped with anxiety at the mention of the latter, but she forced what she hoped was a neutral expression. _He’ll only know you’ve been seeing him if you act like a weirdo_ , she told herself. _Be normal_. Matt hesitated “But I read you wrong. In a lot of ways.”

  
“To be fair, a year ago I wouldn’t have guessed I’d be doing this either,” she shrugged. “And I read you wrong in a lot of ways too.”

  
“Karen, I--”

  
She cut him off quickly. “No, I didn’t mean that as a veiled insult or something. You’ve apologized enough. More than enough. But we both should have been more honest with each other about ourselves and about what we wanted.”

  
Matt nodded. “You’re right. For a long time, I wasn’t honest with myself. I told myself I could balance it all. You, Foggy, and the practice. And Stick, my...other job, and Elektra,” he said with a slight wince. “When it all started to fall apart, I thought I could do it alone. But I was wrong.”

  
“Matt, you don’t need to do this.” Karen didn’t understand. She appreciated the apology, but there was no need to bring up all this again. They’d all been doing their best to move on for months now. She didn’t think there was anything left to say. Not to her, anyway.

  
“I called Foggy last night,” Matt said.

  
Okay, well that was actually a surprise. “And he picked up?”

  
Matt smiled ruefully. “I was surprised too. But we talked for a long time and I explained that my ‘other’ life isn’t going to get in the way of our friendship again.”

  
“Matt,” Karen said sharply. “That isn’t the kind of thing you can promise.”

  
In the three months after telling Frank that he was dead to her, she’d thought about this a lot. _This_ being her expectations, her limits, and what was fair and unfair to ask of someone you care deeply about. It wasn’t just about Frank, though even then she worried about him and cared about him more than she would ever admit. Matt was on her mind too. And she would have never returned his calls or met him for coffee if she couldn’t live with him being the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. She might not like it or even fully understand it, but she could accept him as her friend.

  
“As long as you’re living this-this ‘other’ life, there will be things outside of your control. Important moments you’ll miss. Things you can’t or won’t talk about. Danger. But it’s up to Foggy and I to decide if we can live with that. I want him to forgive you too. I--I _hate_ that things aren’t how they used to be. But you can’t promise things you can’t guarantee,” she said.

  
“What if I could guarantee it?” Matt asked. “What if I’m done living two lives?”

  
“W-what?”

  
“I can’t keep on living a double life.” He leaned closer to ensure none of the patrons drinking on either side of them could hear. “I told Foggy last night...I’m done being Daredevil.”

  
Karen was still picking her jaw up off the floor. She had a million questions and concerns flooding her at once. But the first one that escaped her lips was “ _Why_?”

  
Matt shocked her even further by taking her hand. His body was practically thrumming with this inspired earnest energy that made him irresistible to every jury and every breathing human in New York. _So unfair_ , Foggy used to whisper in court.

  
“Because having you and Foggy in my life means more to me. I-I like to think I’ve done some good for this city. I hope I have anyway. But it meant treating the people who mean the most to me unfairly,” he said.

  
“Karen.” Matt gave her hand a small squeeze and her pulse jumped in fear of his next words. _Please don’t_ , she thought. “I know you might never truly forgive me for all the lying and secrets. It’s not like a bouquet of roses will ever make everything okay between us.”

  
_Shit. The roses! No, no, no._

  
“And I know, believe me, I know, I don’t deserve a second chance. But I hope you can consider letting me back into your life. Not just for awkward coffee shop meetings and phone calls. The real thing,” he said.

  
“I--uh. I--” Karen cleared her throat. Several times. “Sorry, this is a lot to process.”

  
Matt returned her awkward smile and let her hand go. “I get it. You don’t have to know how you feel right away. Maybe we could start with dinner? There’s a great Vietnamese place a couple blocks away from your apartment.”

  
The place she went with Frank only a few weeks ago. Yeah… _way_ too weird for some reason.

  
“I think we should talk first,” she said firmly. “If you’re done with your ‘other’ work and you think that will make you happy, then I’m happy. I never liked seeing you hurt and I would feel better knowing you’re going to stop putting yourself in danger. Even if...even if it means the city loses a hero. But Matt, I...I spent a long time trying to get over you. I don’t know if jumping back to where we left off is a good idea.”

  
“You’re right. You have every right to be cautious. And if you don’t think anything is there anymore, I’ll back off,” Matt said. She knew he meant it. He was determined, but not pushy. He was kind of a crappy boyfriend, but no one could say Matt didn’t respect women. “But it you do...maybe we could go slow, see if it could be as good as we thought it could be?”

  
Karen bit down on the inside of her cheek. She’d literally _just_  been thinking about how happy she was that there was nothing romantic between them anymore. She was content with being his friend.

  
But was she content with coming home to an empty apartment every night? To keep typing out the saddest google search in history: _cheap recipes for one_? Hell, she was so painfully single that she thought for a second that the roses on her desk were part of some kind of death plot. She’d been infatuated with him for so long. Could those feelings really just go away?

  
“I-I don’t know,” she murmured.

  
Matt wasn’t deterred. “Are you seeing anyone?”

  
The briefest flash of dark eyes and a low sandpaper laugh crossed her mind. Karen’s cheeks flushed. _Don’t be an idiot._ “No.”

  
Matt gave her hand another gentle squeeze. “I don’t want to pressure you. Just think about it.”

  
“I…..Okay, I will,” she found herself saying.

  
The brilliant grin on Matt’s face almost eased the doubt simmering in her stomach. He dropped a twenty on the bar and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “I have to be at court early tomorrow. But thank you for letting me talk to you, and for thinking about us. I really missed you, Karen.”

  
“I missed you too.” It was true, just not in the way he meant. But maybe. Maybe she could mean it that way.

  
Karen watched the door of the bar close behind Matt and turned to Josie, who was watching her with raised brows.

  
“I’ll have another.”

 

  
*

 

  
“You know, the movies and books go _on and on_ about all this chemistry stuff. The _spark_. But real relationships just aren’t like that.”

  
Josie wiped down a glass with what looked like a dusty rag. “Please, tell me what real relationships are like. It’s not like I have a bar full of customers to serve.”

  
Karen snorted and took another swig of gin and tonic number four. Or was it five? “I get that you’re being sarcastic right now, but I’m being very sincere. Real relationships are about…they are about committing. _Commitment_.”

  
“Well don’t stop talking. Now I’m enthralled,” the bartender said flatly.

  
“Like, okay. You might not have this Big Love. The one they make movies and books and songs about. But at least the person is there for you….like 77, no, 76 percent of the time. That’s love, being with someone who’s nice and funny and a good person, someone who’s there for you 76 percent of the time.”

  
“So a halfway decent human who is around you sometimes. Those are your standards,” Josie said. “Okay, you’re cut off.”

  
“Huh? Hey, come on,” Karen whined. “You know me, I’m not hurting anyone.”

  
“You’re hurting yourself, kid. And you know it.” With that Josie turned and began serving another customer at the other end of the bar.

  
“I know you for two years and now you decide to become Doctor Phil?” Karen scoffed and finished her drink. “Yeah, whatever.”

  
She dug in her wallet for a few bills and tucked them under her empty glass. _I’m fine_ , she thought. It’s not like she was blackout drunk. In fact, she might even have a nice glass of wine when she got home. Only when she stood up to put on her jacket, the world shifted and she was swaying on heels that were suddenly way _way_ too high.

  
“Oh, shit.”

  
Karen held onto the bar top for dear life, just barely saving herself from falling ass backwards onto the dirtiest floor in Manhattan. Unfortunately the move wasn’t smooth enough to miss Josie’s attention and the bartender was standing in front of her on the other side of the bar with a scowl.

  
“Honey, you better tell me you got a ride home. Call up one of those lawyer boys before you break a leg trying to stand up straight.”

  
“It’s called the subway,” Karen said. “I’m fine.”

  
“No way. I’m not letting a customer fall onto the tracks _again_. We don’t need the publicity. I'm callin’ you a cab.”

  
Rough hands landed on her shoulders, steadying her still wobbly form. The familiar scent of gun oil and coffee tipped her off and Karen’s heart thudded in her chest.

  
“I’m taking her home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE forgive me for the lack of Frank in this long chapter. I promise you next chapter will make up for it. ;) 
> 
> Thanks again for reading. I’m going to try so so so hard to get the next one out before November 17th!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen takes a ride on an emotional rollercoaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo just in time for the Punisher series. Thanks again for all the comments and kudos and for sticking around for what turned out to be a much heavier story than I anticipated. Hope you enjoy :)

“Frank? What are you doing here?”

  
Her face was flushed ( _from the drinking_ , she reasoned) and her heart was thudding in her ears ( _yeah, definitely just from the drinking_ ), but she wasn’t concerned. She was just shocked to see Frank Castle at Josie’s. Two very different facets of her life combined. It was all at once totally bizarre and really right. Or maybe it was just that Frank fit right in with the clientele.

  
It wasn’t so much the grown out military cut or the short beard peppered with a few grays. It was more the rigid set of his shoulders and the shadows under his eyes. In the right light those coffee brown eyes were shark eyes. Black. Empty. Utterly fucking terrifying.

  
But in front of her here at Josie’s, amusement danced in them as he took in her drunken state. His lips ticked a fraction into what she now recognized as an almost-smile. “I’m taking you home,” he repeated.

  
“Oh. Okay.” Apparently that was the only answer she was going to get. Drunk Karen was cool with it. She turned to Josie. “I’ve got a ride now.”

  
“I see that.” Josie looked long and hard at Frank, not even a little phased by his stone cold stare.

  
He cocked a brow. “We good?”

  
Finally the woman nodded. “Get her home safe. Meth Head Charlie died last month. The bar can’t afford to lose another customer.”

  
Frank muttered something that sounded like _Jesus Fucking Christ_ and turned to Karen. “You got your coat?”

  
“Yep. Just trying to find the ah--” She felt around the green lump in her hands, finding the hood, the pockets, but no damn sleeves. Frank gently pushed her hands away and held the fabric open for her. She stepped closer to slide her arms through and smiled gratefully. “Thanks.”

  
She stumbled a little as they cut through the crowded bar, but Frank guided her with one hand on the small of her back. He hadn’t touched her since the night she told him about Wesley and her body seemed ultra-aware of it. She could barely feel him through the thick peacoat, but her skin simmered nonetheless.

  
“How’d you know I was at Josie’s?” she asked, mostly just to fill the silence as they stepped outside the bar. She made a big show of patting down her coat. “Did you put a tracking device on me while I was sleeping or something?”

  
Frank snorted. “No offense, ma’am, but you ain’t that hard to find.”

  
“‘Specially not for you. Sharp shooter, Quantico. Class 306.”

  
“Class 307.” he grumbled. “Smart ass”

  
She was still grinning as he helped her climb inelegantly into his old white van and waited patiently for her to buckle up. For the first few minutes of the drive to her place, they sat in comfortable silence as Karen let the day’s exhaustion float over her. But when she looked over at Frank, she found him shooting her a glance out of the corner of his eye.

  
“Tough day?” he murmured.

  
Karen grunted in a very Frank-like fashion. She didn’t want to think about the roses sitting on her desk or Caleb’s drawing tucked away in her purse. _Ugh_. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

  
The silence stretched between them for a few more minutes, the sound of sirens and horns beeping in the distance and the rattle of the van’s heater acting as background noise. Finally, Frank cleared his throat.

  
“Ran into Red earlier,” he said. Karen’s stomach clenched. “He gave me a big speech. Or, you know, a regular length speech by Red’s standards. Started off with the usual, self righteous ‘murder is wrong’ bullshit. Then it got interesting.”

  
Karen raised her head from the glass and chewed on her bottom lip. “Oh yeah?”

  
“Yeah. Said all this big talk about how he’s done living a lie and betraying everyone he loves. Told me he’s puttin’ away his red pajamas, and that he wants me to take care of ‘his’ city.” Frank, bathed in blue light from a passing cop car, gave her a long searching look.

  
Karen sighed. So much for drinking her confusion away. “The speech he gave me was a little different. Less pajamas.”

  
“So, let me guess. You’re giving him another shot.”

  
“I told him I’d think about it.” Karen reluctantly peeked over at him but his eyes were trained on the road. “I mean, I probably should, right? Things before were...okay, not good. But he seems really sincere.”

  
“I’m sure he does.”

  
She might be too drunk to climb into a van in high heels, but she could still recognize sarcasm. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  
“It means,” he said. “That I think Murdock can talk the talk, but when it comes down to it, he can’t walk the walk.”

  
Karen hadn’t even fully agreed to give Matt a second chance, but she found herself pissed off on his behalf. What Matt said today, even if things didn’t work out, meant a lot to her. Who was Frank to be such a dick about it? She sat up straighter in her seat and shifted her body towards him. “He got the upperhand on you a few times.”

  
Frank’s jaw ticked. “I’m not talking about combat.”

  
“He can talk the walk--dammit, he can walk the walk just fine.”

  
“I’ll have to take your word for it.”

  
Karen gritted her teeth. The whole point in drinking her problems away was to _drink her problems away_ , not to argue with Frank. “It’s different now, okay? He even sent roses to my office.”

  
Frank didn’t even try to mask his sarcasm. “He spent twenty bucks on some flowers. Real romantic.”

  
“It was! Nobody’s ever given me flowers before. It was...nice. A grand romantic gesture.” Once she figured out who they were from and that they weren’t laced with anthrax.

  
He snorted. “Is that what he called it? Sending you flowers doesn’t make him The One.” Frank leveled her with a long look. “It just means that you’ve dated a lot of very stupid men.”

  
The way his gaze moved from her eyes down to her lips made her face heat and her fingers squirm on her lap. When he dragged his eyes back to the road she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

  
Karen cleared her throat. “Well, I don’t exactly have anyone else lining up to send me flowers. He’s--he’s handsome, kind, funny. We have history. Why shouldn’t I give him a second chance?”

  
Frank’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. The sarcasm was gone now, replaced with anger brewing just under the surface. “He lies. He hurts you.”

  
Her throat was tight. “I forgave him for that awhile ago. He’s done being Daredevil. It’s--it’s not going to be like before.”

  
“He ain’t gonna change, ma’am.”

  
Karen hated how desperate she sounded. “He might.”

  
“He won’t.” Frank’s voice was quiet, but his gaze was hard as he glanced at her. “He ain’t made for civilian life.”

  
Karen scowled. “How would you know? All you do is beat the crap out of each other.”

  
He let out a gruff laugh. Not the warm rough laugh that sent her heart sprinting. It was cold. Harsh. “I know. Trust me. He can put on his suits, and carry his little walking stick—”

  
“It’s a _cane_.”

  
“Fine,” Frank spat. “He can use his damn cane that he doesn’t even need, and defend all the goddamn scumbags in the world in court. But it’ll never be enough. He’ll stop a mugging one day, maybe break up a fight, and he’ll think, _okay, one last time_. And he’ll keep doing it. He’ll keep lying to you. And he’ll keep disappointing you over and over and over again.”

  
_God_ , even in her drunken state she could see it perfectly: Matt coming to bed late, hiding bruises under his shirt. Her waiting alone at a restaurant for him to finally show. Karen walking down the aisle to no groom in sight. She’d smile at the priest and shrug. _Sorry, it’s complicated._

  
Her face felt uncomfortably hot, his words clawing into her mind. _Never be enough_. She shoved it away and glared at him. “You don’t know that.”

  
“I do know it. And so do you.” He leveled her with a hard look as he pulled onto her street. “If you were so goddamn jazzed about him, why did I have to carry you out of a bar on a Tuesday night?”

  
“Okay, _carry_ is a little much. And you know what, Frank? Next time, feel free to leave me there,” she snapped. Frank hadn’t even finished parking the car next to the curb when she unclipped her seatbelt and threw open the door. She ignored his shout and slid gracelessly onto the sidewalk. “Thanks for the ride!”

  
Karen took three determined wobbly steps before Frank was in front of her, holding her purse in one hand and reaching out for her elbow to balance her with the other. “Hey, hey, hey. Come on. Stop.”

  
She shoved his hands away, which only made her teeter more. Worse, hot tears swam in her vision. _Great_. She avoided his concerned expression by avoiding his eyes and staring behind him at her apartment building. “Leave. Me. Alone.”

  
“I can’t do that.” He grasped her hands firmly in one of his along with the strap of her purse and steadied her by the elbow with the other one. “I know you don’t wanna see my face right now, but we gotta get you upstairs.”

  
Karen ripped her hands out of his grasp. “I’ll sleep on the stoop. Go away.”

  
“You can’t sleep on the damn stoop.”

  
Karen ignored him and walked carefully over to her stoop and planted her butt down on the cold stone. It was freezing and she immediately regretted it, only making her more pissed off.

  
“What the hell is wrong with you?” She demanded. “Six months ago you told me to-to hold on with two hands. What happened to that?”

  
Frank signed and scrubbed a hand down his weary face. Finally, he sat next to her on the stoop. “Things changed.”

  
She folded her arms over her chest, trying to ignore the tiny traitorous voice in the back of her mind whispering, _his feelings for you changed_. She was mad at him, dammit. And besides, that didn’t make any sense. “What kind of things?”

  
“For starters, I didn’t know the lawyer you were so hung up on was the asshole in red longjohns givin’ me hell every night.”

  
“So it’s just because you don’t like him. Because he’s...Red.”

  
“That ain’t it. We don’t see eye to eye. And more often than not, I wanna beat the snot out of him. But shit, I don’t _dislike_ Red.” Frank ran a hand over his beard as if he was still unused to it. “It’s the mask. The billy club. The whole damn thing. He’s so wrapped up in this other persona he doesn’t see things that are right in front of him.”

  
“Like what?”

  
“Like you.”

  
Karen’s mouth went dry and her heart starting pounding. “He sees me.”

  
“No. He sees the person you want him to see. The person he needs you to be. The nice girl who never pushes or asks for too much,” Frank said. His voice was gruff, a little harsh. The _you’re full of shit and I’m about to tell you why_ voice. Karen tried to look away but his coffee brown eyes pinned her down, made it impossible to glance anywhere but him. “He thinks life with you would be simple. Easy. That if he can protect you, it’s gonna heal whatever part of him died with the woman on the roof that night. He’s so caught up in his own bullshit that he can’t see that you’re more than that; that nothing with you would ever just be simple or easy.”

  
She wanted so badly for him to be wrong. But there was truth in his words and it burned her to the core. Still, she tried to ignore it. “I can be simple and easy.”

  
“You can act that way, but it’s not you. You ask questions, you call bullshit. You’re not some wilting flower,” Frank snapped. “And why the hell you’d want to be _that_ when you’re _you_ makes no goddamn sense to me.”

  
“I’m not trying to be a stupid flower!” She exclaimed, almost yelling now. “I’m just….I don’t know.”

  
Karen’s shoulders sagged as all of her drunken anger and bravado deflated. The tears were falling from her chin before she even realized she was crying.

  
“I kn- _know_ he loved her. _Really_ loved her. And I get it, I know that he’ll never love me like that. But _God_ ,” she said miserably. “I just tried so hard to be the person I thought he wanted. Maybe I want to be simple and easy. Maybe, just _once_ , I want someone to choose _me_. To tell me I’m good enough.”

  
Her whole life her father viewed her more like a disobedient dog than an actual person, his child. And her mother wasn’t much better. She didn’t hit her with a belt or her palm, but her words were still branded deep beneath Karen’s skin. _If you dress like that, no boy will think you’re worth having. No one’s gonna love a bag of bones like you, Karen_. She was so ashamed that even years after they’d both been buried, she was still their victim, so desperate for someone to love her that she latched on to the only decent guy who showed any interest.

  
“ _Hey_.” Frank’s growl pulled her out of her own personal self-flagellation.

  
He was crouched in front of her on the stoop, holding her shoulders in his big hands, his whole body thrumming with anger. “Look at me. Whoever made you think that--that _bullshit_ that you’re not good enough? Fuck. Them. They don’t know anything. You got that?”

  
Karen could feel Frank’s eyes moving over her, but she forced her eyes down to her hands. She couldn’t meet his gaze. Not with her heartbeat thudding in her ears and her emotions so raw. She wanted to be mad at him, not...whatever this was.

  
Two cool, calloused fingers touched her chin and guided her face up until she was finally forced to meet his eyes. His face was all hard panes and heavy lines, eyebrows furrowed, his lips set in a frown. But his eyes, so tender as they slowly took in her face made her whole body sing.

  
“You’re so much more than _good enough_ , Karen.” His fingers dropped from her face and his frown deepened. “Listen, you’re a grown woman, you don’t need my opinion. But I will _never_ think Murdock deserves you.”

  
“Okay,” she said hoarsely, wiping away a few straggler tears. Because what else could she say? What she really wanted? _No way._

  
“Now let’s get you upstairs.”

 

  
*

  
They stumbled a few times in the stairwell, with Frank hoisting Karen up with his arm snaked around her middle more than once. She should have been embarrassed, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so sloppy drunk. But she couldn’t think straight with all of her brain cells at war over her emotions and too much gin. All she could do was feel.

  
_Frank’s heavy arm around her, pulling her flush against his side when her foot missed a step. His soft exhale on her hair with every breath. The rumble of his chest as he murmured, “almost there.”_

  
“You okay?” he asked, frowning at her as he dug through her purse to find her keys.

  
Her face flushed. “I’m fine. Just...thinking.” _Trying not to think._

  
Frank got her door open and led her inside. He pulled her coat off her back and folded it on one of the kitchen chairs with her purse like it was the most natural thing in the world. As if they were coming home to their apartment from a rowdy date night, instead of from a dive bar and her freezing stoop. Like she hadn’t just been crying over some other man.

  
_Not some other man_ , she chastised herself. Good, safe Matt. Matt, one of her best friends, the person who took a chance on her in a cold interrogation room at the police station two years ago. The man who lied to her but had an address and phone number and could go out in public. The man who wasn’t still grieving the loss of his wife and kids. The man who would never get in her face and challenge her, or make her heart pound so hard she couldn’t think straight.

  
“Thinkin’ pretty hard,” Frank murmured, rousing her from her thoughts. He handed her a full glass of water and two aspirin that she hadn’t even noticed him retrieve. “Take these.”

  
She complied and drank more than half the glass before kicking off her heels and leaning back on her kitchen counter. “Thank you. Not just for this, for bringing me home. I’m...I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

  
He shook his head. “You were drinking and I pushed too hard. Should’ve just brought you home, made sure you were okay.”

  
Karen shrugged and offered him a smile. “Sometimes I need a push. I’m not some flower, you know.”

  
Frank smiled faintly, just a flash of dimple that made her chest ache. “No, you’re not.”

  
“I’m glad you came tonight,” she admitted quietly. “Even though we yelled and I cried in front of you for the millionth time. I feel like we haven’t been normal since that night.”

  
She didn’t need to elaborate on what night she was talking about. Frank’s eyes flashed with some unidentifiable emotion (Guilt? Strain? Tenderness?) before his expression went blank. “Don’t know if we’ve ever been normal, ma’am.”

  
_The hell?_ Frank Castle deflecting? Karen narrowed her eyes. “Normal for us, I mean. You haven’t noticed? I feel like you haven’t really looked at me in weeks.”

  
Frank looked at her then, endless brown eyes holding her captive. Karen’s fingers gripped the counter behind her for support. Suddenly his nostrils flared and he looked away. “I’ve noticed.”

  
“Did—” Karen cleared her throat. “Did I spring too much on you?”

  
“No. Nothing like that.”

  
“Are you sure? I know it was a lot. And I know I said you were my friend, which might have weirded you out. But we are, and—”

  
Frank took a step closer to her. “It wasn’t that.”

  
“Then what was it?”

  
Karen risked another glance up at him. She'd always been self conscious about her height, especially around men. But with him she felt delicate, like he could pick her up with ease. He'd taken her down easily enough the night her place got shot up, pulling her down to the floor and shielding her with the weight of his body. At the time she hadn’t been able to form any functional thoughts besides _God oh God please don't die_ , but now she studied him and _wondered_.

  
What would it be like if he breached the distance between them? If he encircled her with the corded muscles of his arms and held her to his chest. Not the reluctant embrace from a few weeks ago, but something crushing, intimate. How would his lips feel crashing into hers? Would he be tender, gentle Frank who rubbed her back when she was distressed and liked a little sugar in his black coffee? Or would he be the Punisher, demanding, totally unforgiving as his thick hands fisted into her hair and he crushed his mouth over hers? She bit down hard on her bottom lip.

  
The clearing of Frank’s throat pulled her out of her dangerous line of thinking. _Oh right_. She was staring at him with dazed porno eyes. She dragged her gaze away with effort and silently scolded herself. _This might be the stupidest thing you’ve ever thought, Karen._

  
Not to mention _insane_. Completely and totally insane. She was fantasizing about the freaking Punisher. Her _friend_.

  
“It’s nothing you said or did,” Frank said roughly. “It’s my own issue. And you don’t gotta worry about it.”

  
“Do you want to talk about it?” Their unwritten code for a peace offering, the invitation to put everything on the table. Karen pleaded with him with stormy blue eyes. _Tell me._

  
“No,” Frank rasped. “Besides, It’s late. You should be in bed.”

  
The word _bed_ sent a wave of heat through her body and her cheeks flushed. Frank’s nostrils flared and his dark eyes follows the blush from her cheeks down to the space between the hollow of her throat and the neckline of her black dress. It wasn’t the gaze of a sometimes savior and designated driver. It wasn’t even the affectionate gaze of a friend. Karen bit the inside of her cheek.

  
“Would you mind, um, giving me a hand with this before you go?” She gestured to the zipper at the back of her neck. The clasp above it really did get stuck in her hair and give her issues, but it had nothing to do with why she was asking him. No, this was all about five gin and tonics still working their way through her system and the electricity humming along her skin.

  
Frank froze. Burning dark coals shifted up to her face, piercing her to the floor and making her heart gallop painfully in her chest. Silence stretched between them for what could have been seconds or minutes, charging the energy around them and sucking the air out of Karen’s chest. The way he was glaring at her….no, this was a mistake. It was a dumb trick from the movies that she should have never tried. It was so lame. Frank would never do-

  
“Turn around.”

  
Her eyes widened. “What?”

  
He still hadn’t moved a muscle, his eyes locked firmly on hers. But his Adam’s apple bobbed as he murmured a little more gently, “Turn around. I'll help you.”

  
Karen silently obliged. She stood stiffly a foot away, bracing for his touch as if she hadn't literally just asked for him to do this for her.

  
She didn’t hear him move, just felt his weighted presence behind her. He gathered her thick blonde hair in his hands and draped it over her shoulder, his fingers lingering for just a second too long. When they brushed her neck, her eyes fluttered and her stomach dropped. His fingers worked clumsily at the clasp and the rough whisper of calloused skin against the soft surface of her neck sent a wave of desire rolling through her body.

  
It was undeniable now. She desired him. And not just because she hadn't had so much as a peck on the cheek in months. Not because she was lonely. Not because Matt wasn’t there. It was _him_. She wanted him; wanted his rough hands on her thighs, his lips on hers. She didn't care about the blood on his hands or that she might not ever hear about Kandahar or live up to his wife’s memory. She wanted Frank. On her. Over her. Preferably on her kitchen table.

  
He let out a short exhale as he carefully slid the zipper down her pale back. She was wearing a wine colored lace bra and (for once) matching panties. But Frank only unzipped her halfway, his hands stopping at the center of her back, knuckles softly skating on her skin. She nearly groaned.

  
“Is this good?” His voice was a rough whisper, gentle and hard all at once. A fire ignited low in her belly, between her legs.

  
“Frank.” Was that low whimper her voice? Karen almost didn't recognize the half dressed woman swaying at the touch of Frank Castle. She let herself lean backward against his solid chest as his hands slid down to her sides.

  
His breath tickled her neck as he let out a strangled sound. “Come on. Don't do this.”

  
“Don’t do what?” She couldn't tell if he was talking to her or to himself.

  
“ _This_ ,” he said. But his breathing was heavy and his thumbs kneaded small delectable circles at her hips.

  
“Just once,” she murmured. _Just once. Just one time to know what it’s like.To know how he feels._ She was lying, of course. One time would never be enough, but she’d say anything, do anything for him to keep touching her. “Please.”

  
He rested his forehead against the back of her head as if summoning all his strength. “You’re drunk.”

  
“It’s been a few hours. I’m probably fine, I--”

  
“This is a mistake. You don’t want me. You want Murdock.” That seemed to give him the fortitude to back away, taking all the heat with him. He cursed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Get some sleep. Have some coffee and I’ll see you next week.”

  
“No.” Karen turned around and held his gaze. “It’s not a mistake. I don’t want him. Okay?”

  
Frank’s eyes narrowed. “An hour ago you were ready to settle down with him.”

  
“Because I can’t have you.”

  
The words spilled out before she could rein them in. Karen’s heart stopped and she threw a hand over her mouth, two seconds too late. She bit her lip hard. _Fuck. Fuck. FUCK._

  
Frank swallowed heavily and shook his head. “You don’t mean that.”

  
Karen squeezed her eyes shut for a long moment. She was barely ready to accept it herself, but now that it was out there she couldn’t take it back. It was too late. And besides, a small, brave part of her refused.

  
“I do mean it. I-I’ve been trying to tell myself it’s nothing, that I’m just lonely. But that’s not it,” she said shakily. “I don’t want Matt. I don’t want some random nice guy. I want you.”

  
Frank’s body was rigid and his mouth was set in a thin line. He looked like a snake was going to jump at him instead of a woman who wanted to sleep with him. “It’s the alcohol talking.”

  
“No, it’s not. I’ve felt this way for a while now.” She let out a short, miserable laugh. “I mean, if I hadn’t been drinking I probably would have never told you, but...there it is.”

  
Frank glared at the bullet strewn wall behind her, his throat moving. “I can’t.”

  
She _knew_ he’d say that. It’s why she never wanted to tell him, never wanted to admit it to herself. But it still felt like a punch to the gut.

  
“Can’t or won’t?”

  
“Both.” He faced her then and his expression was forcefully flat, empty. “I can’t be who you want me to be.”

  
Karen curled her hands into fists. “Who do you think I want you to be?”

  
“The kind of person who deserves you,” he said roughly. “A good guy, a guy who buys you flowers and tells you everything that’s on his mind. A guy who can be there for you whenever you need him.”

  
“Are you done yet?” Karen asked. It was the same arrogant voice he used on her in the diner when he said she was serving up bullshit. “I don’t want that. I don’t need someone who thinks they deserve me. I want _you_.”

  
She crossed the distance between them and slowly, so so slowly, laid her hand on his cheek. Frank closed his eyes like the touch stung. “Maybe you’re not a good guy. Maybe you’ll never tell me about Kandahar or Schoonover. Maybe you don’t feel even a little bit of what I feel for you. But I want you. And I think you want me too.”

  
He opened his eyes and they were black, empty. Shark’s eyes. Eyes that said _I’m already dead_. “You’re wrong.”

  
Karen blinked hard. She wouldn’t let the tears out. Not now, while he lied to her face for the first time. She dug her nails into her palms. “Frank.”

  
He stepped back, away from her touch, her warmth. He headed to the door. For a minute she didn’t think he’d even turn around, that he’d just disappear from her life again without a goodbye. But at the last minute he hesitated. Frank looked back at her and his face was filled with a thousand warring emotions. “I’m sorry.”

  
She wished he said nothing. For a cruel second she wished he never showed up at her apartment asking for help. She wished she told him to stay the hell out of her life.

  
She wished he loved her.

  
The door clicked softly behind him and she sank to her knees, half naked and barefoot, ugly sobs wracking her body. She stayed that way, curled in on herself on her kitchen floor, hating herself and hating Frank Castle.

  
But then the sun slowly peeked through the cracks in her blinds. The neighbor across the hall started singing in the shower. And Karen got up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading. Sorry for the sadness! Only about two more chapters left.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen comes to the rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all your kind words and for hanging in there with me! We’re winding down to the end. Here’s the latest:

Karen kept moving.

She woke up every morning, got dressed, drank her coffee, did research, conducted interviews, and wrote her ass off. Her story on the Staten Island chemical plant and interview with Danny Rand was the top trending story on the Bulletin’s site for a solid two weeks. And according to Ellison, the investigative piece she was working on now had the potential for a Pulitzer. Though he was likely just flattering her since she’d managed to make it to a few editorial meetings.

She made an effort.

People at work started joking with her, making small talk in the break room and asking her for advice on their articles. She played pool with Marci and Foggy once a week. She tried out jogging with Indrani and joined the other writers for drinks some weekends. She had dinner with Matt--actually, many dinners with Matt.

The first one was at a hot pot place close to Josie’s. He showed up at the restaurant with flowers. She said she couldn’t be with him. It was painfully awkward to say the least. But it slowly got easier.

They still avoided certain aspects of each other’s lives--she didn’t mention the dark circles under his eyes or the restless energy he was giving off since giving up Daredevil; he was graceful enough not to ask why she lied about there being no one else. But they were friends again. Real friends. The kind who could eat together and go to movies and joke with no romantic tension between them.

She needed that. She needed to be busy, to be social. To do anything she could to keep functioning.

It was hardest at night, when her apartment walls felt like they were closing in on her. Loneliness was more than just a feeling, it was a physical weight slowly crushing her. She fell asleep every night listening to a police scanner app on her phone. She told herself it was because her apartment was too quiet, that she just needed the noise. The truth was too painful. But two months and three days after Frank Castle disappeared from her life for the second time, she was forced to face it again.

 

*

 

“You want another drink?”

Karen held up her half empty beer bottle. “No thanks. I’m still working on this one.”

Foggy looked at Marci. “Babe?”

She fluttered her eyelashes. “You know what I like.”

“A Shirley temple?” Foggy faked ignorance. “Wait, I know, a really dark beer. One of those really thick malty ones that’ll put hair on your chest.”

Marci smirked. “Go get me my martini, smartass.”

“I’ll be right back.” Foggy planted a big kiss on Marci’s cheek and took off set off through the throngs of people in the crowded bar.

“He’s such a dork,” Marci said with a barely contained smile. “He does that every time.”

“You two seem like you’re doing well.”

Marci shrugged, trying and failing at being nonchalant. With her light hair she blushed almost as visibly as Karen. “We’ve been talking about him just moving to my place. It’s closer to HC&B, and just more convenient than me dragging my clothes and makeup to his place all time.”

Karen smirked. Foggy’s place was _maybe_ five minutes further from the practice. “Hmm. Convenient.”

“Well, we’ll see how this martini goes first,” Marci, ever the hardass beneath the perfectly polished hair and nails, said with a flip of her hair.

Karen’s smile was strained but genuine. She wanted them to work out. She loved that Foggy had some of the happiness he deserved, loved that amidst all the teasing, they were talking about the long term and moving in together. They deserved it. They should be happy.

But on nights like this it was hard to forget just how unhappy she was. Karen watched every easy touch of the wrist and every quick kiss and sank deeper and deeper into the dark. On nights like this, even when she was surrounded by people, the loneliness found her and dragged her back with a vengeance.

“Alright, you two can stop panicking. I’m back.” Foggy returned to the table with Marci’s martini and a beer for himself, looking a little harried. “And next time we’re going to Josie’s. Everyone here looks straight out of _American Psycho_. It’s terrifying.”

“And everyone at Josie’s looks like they’re an extra on  _Sons of Anarchy_. _That’s_ terrifying. Hard pass.”

“Karen, back me up here. What’s wrong with Josie’s?”

She snapped out of her depressing line of thinking and forced a smile. “Besides the water, the dirty glasses, and the terrifying patrons and bartenders, nothing.”

Marci held out a hand in a _see what I mean_ gesture. “Thank you.”

“Though I do like playing pool,” Karen added.

She couldn’t totally betray Josie’s. Especially not since Josie herself seemed to somewhat like her these days. She at least wiped the dust off the glass before pouring her drinks. Unfortunately, Marci wasn’t getting the five star treatment quite yet.

“No, it’s settled. Next week the three of us and Matt are playing pool. Marci, we need to defend our championship against them. And don’t lie, I know you’re just as invested.”

“Can I just point out that it’s a little sick how bad you want to beat a blind guy at pool?” She laughed. “I mean, not that I’m unwilling to wipe the floor with you and him, Karen.”

Karen smiled. She’d watch Matt pretend to be bad at pool a million times if it meant getting out of her apartment for a night. “It’s on. I’ll call him tomorrow to see if he’s down.”

“Don’t bother, he and I are actually going to meet in the morning to talk about one of the pro bono cases he’s working on,” Foggy said. “I’ll ask him then.”

Right. After so many months of distance, Nelson & Murdock were back in action. Well, not officially. Karen didn’t know what the future of the firm was, if they’d ever practice together again. But at least they’d stopped playing the world’s worst game of Telephone with Karen stuck in the middle.

Matt had kept his promise and Foggy was a million times happier with Matt back in his life. They were all friends again. She was more productive than ever. Everything was going great. They were maybe the closest theyk’d ever be to the way things were before. So why couldn’t she just be happy?

“Karen, hey. Did you hear me?” Karen blinked.

Foggy and Marci were both staring at her with twin looks of concern.

She cleared her suddenly dry throat and attempted a smile. “Sorry, what?”

Marci gave Foggy a pointed look. “I’m going to go to the bathroom.”

 _Here we go_. Karen sighed as her friend’s girlfriend slipped away, leaving them to the privacy of their table. She knew what was coming before he even opened his mouth. Foggy could joke and play the lovable doofus, but nothing got past him. Especially when she assumed she wasn’t being entirely subtle to begin with. _Time for my intervention._

“Are you okay?” He asked. “I had to call your name like three times before you looked up from that.” She looked down to where he gestured and noticed her beer bottle’s label in tiny indistinguishable shreds.

“Sorry, I spaced out.”

“It feels like you’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

“I know. I--I know. I’ve had a lot on my plate.”

“Which is why I’m worried. You’re pushing yourself harder than I’ve ever seen you. What’s going on with you, Karen?”

Foggy’s eyes searched hers, but she looked away. What was she supposed to say? _Hey, remember that one case we had, the one where the guy was charged with killing hmmm, about 37 people? The Punisher? Well, I have feelings for him and he basically dumped me and now I don’t have the first fucking clue on how to move on._

“Karen, talk to me. Do you remember what I told you on Marci’s birthday? You can tell me what’s wrong. I’m here for you.”

Karen shook her head and looked out at some passing cop cars speeding by outside, their sirens dulled by the pulsing ambient music of the bar. As much as she wanted to confide in him, despite all the repercussions, she couldn’t. Not here in a crowded hipster bar with Marci about to come back at any second.

“I can’t. Not right now. It’s just, it’s not the right time.”

“I get the feeling there’s never going to be a right time, Karen,” Foggy said. “So why don’t you just tell me? Just, lay it on me. Let me help you figure it out.”

He might never forgive her. He might never talk to her again. And he would most definitely call her batshit. But maybe it was time. Being honest with herself about Frank got her nowhere, but she could at least try to be honest with her friends.

Karen took a deep breath. “It’s a long story. And by the end of it, you’re going to try to have me committed.”

Foggy snorted. “Doubtful. Just tell me.”

Karen opened her mouth to at least tell him it couldn’t happen here--she wasn’t going to risk exposing Frank in a crowded bar. But she was interrupted by her cell phone ringer.

“Shit.”

Karen pulled her phone out of her purse and checked the ID. Blocked number. She bit her lip. A lot of her sources used unknown and blocked phone numbers. She was in the middle of an investigative piece on some missing sex workers and had given her number to a few people who looked like they had more to say but were too skittish to talk yet. If this was a lead...

“Just answer it,” Foggy said. “You know you’re dying to.”

 _Shit_.

“I’m sorry. I really need to take this. Foggy, I promise, I--”

“Yeah, yeah. Another time,” Foggy sighed. “Go do your badass journalist thing. I’ll be waiting.”

Karen squeezed through crowds of men and women in casual business attire drinking martinis and gin and tonics in small groups and pushed her way out into the chilly November night.

“Hello?”

Some faint rustling and then silence. Karen gripped the phone tighter to her ear. All she could hear was heavy breathing and a scraping sound. She couldn’t make out any distinguishable voice, but her heart stilled with anxiety. She pushed her fingers over her empty ear to hear better over the bitter wind whipping through her hair. “Hello?”

“ _Karen_.”

 _No no no no no._ Karen’s heart starting hammering and she froze in the middle of sidewalk. She knew that rasp, would recognize her name on his lips anywhere. But she also knew he wouldn’t be calling her unless he had to.

“Frank. What’s going on? Where are you?”

“I’m, ah, I’m not doing so hot. Some assholes got the drop on me.” He said it with faint amusement, like he couldn’t quite believe it himself. Then he let out a wet cough that just about killed her.

“What do you mean? What happened?”

“It ain’t important right now. I just...I gotta talk to you.”

“You can talk to me in person. Where are you? Give me an address, anything. J-just tell me where you are.” She strained to hear something, anything that might reveal where he was.

“’S not safe.” Frank groaned and took a few ragged breaths. “Karen, I fucked up.”

“I-it doesn’t matter,” she assured him shakily. “It doesn’t matter. You’re going to be fine, okay? Just tell me where you are.”

“Not talking about tonight. That night in your apartment. I shouldn’t have—”

“ _Stop_ ,” Karen hissed. “Stop that. Do _not_ say some noble bullshit apology to me, Frank. Tell me where you are so I can help you.”

“It’s too risky. The cops are comin’. If they find you with me again, what do you think is gonna happen?”

“Do you really think I give a shit about that?”

She heard sirens in the distance on his end and a faint chuckle that turned into another wet cough.

“Knew you’d give me hell. Shouldn’t’ve called, but I’m so goddamn selfish when it comes to you,” he rasped. “Thought it would be fast--thought I’d go out with a bang. _Bam_ , over. No regrets, yeah? But I’m lyin’ here looking up at this stupid fucking billboard for some--some cherry blossom perfume and thinking about your hair and your smile and that fuckin’ flash in your eyes when you’re pissed off, and...and it ain’t how I thought it would be. Didn't think it’d be so hard to let go.”

“So don’t.” Tears burned in the corners of her eyes, but Karen blinked them back. She wouldn’t let them fall, wouldn’t give them a reason to. She forced steel into her voice and clutched the phone in a white-knuckled grip. “Listen to me, Frank. If you don’t tell me where you are, I will _never_ forgive you. Okay?”

“Karen.” Her name was a rough plea on his lips. One last ditch effort to push her away, to resist.

 _Not happening._ He could abandon their friendship, disappear forever, whatever. But he wasn’t going to keep her from saving him. 

“No. You can’t just call me to say some kind of fucked up apology and goodbye and not let me help you. I-I will never get over this. Do you understand?” _I’ll never get over you_. She squeezed her eyes shut and dug a hand in her hair. “ _Please_.”

Silence except for the sound of Frank’s haggard breathing. Then he groaned. “West 59th. In an alley next to some shitty deli. But if you hear gunshots, cops, if you get even a tiny feeling something ain’t right, you get the hell of there. You got that?”

Leave it to Frank to be bossy while she was trying to save his life. Karen might have rolled her eyes if she weren’t so fucking terrified. She put on her brave face and forced steel into her voice. “I’m on my way. Don’t you dare die on me, Frank.”

 

*

 

She found him slumped against the brick wall of the deli, right where he said he’d be, the electric pink billboard looming above.

He looked terrible.

The section of his face that wasn’t covered with his unkempt beard was black and blue--his nose was swollen, his eyes rimmed with black lines, and there was a cut on his bottom lip. Frank had been busy, and not just tonight. The messy hair, the faded bruises.This was clearly a months-long endeavor of pain and punishing.

But the bruises didn’t scare her. It was his eyes, heavy lidded and barely focusing, and his hands, clutching his side and covered in a dark red sheen.

Karen crossed the distance between them and sank to her knees, ignoring the crunch of gravel and the new rip in her tights. She laid a hand gently, so so softly, on his battered face.

“Frank.” She cleared her throat and blinked back tears. “Frank, I-I’m here.”

His eyes swung lazily over her, slowly taking her in. He cupped her face in his hand and swiped his thumb softly over her cheek. His gaze moved over the sticky red line before moving back to her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped.

Whether it was for getting his blood on her face and hair or for leaving her for the past two months, she wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. They could talk about it later. They _would_ talk about it later. She was determined. 

“Don’t apologize,” she said. She looked down at the blood glugging slowly between his fingers and added her hand to try to slow the bleeding. “T-talk to me. Tell me what happened to you.”

“Heard about some scumbags who were selling girls. Found the factory they were operating out of. Killed ‘em all. Least I thought I did...” Frank let out a wet cough and winced. “Shitbag was in the bathroom. Listened to me kill his pals, then tried to be hero. Popped me twice before I finished him off. Stupid fucking mistake.”

Frank rested his head back on the wall before meeting her gaze again. His hand drifted from her face down to her collar, staining her blouse with blood. She didn’t think he even meant to, he just couldn’t hold up his hand anymore.

“Karen.” His dark eyes were murky, barely in focus. He’d lost way too much blood. “So much I wanna say to you.”

“I know.” She held her hand over his and blinked through the tears gathering on her lash line. “Tell me later. Okay? Just—just stay awake.”

She had no idea what to do or how to help. Karen took a first aid class in middle school but it didn’t cover gun shots to the stomach. She only knew what she saw in movies. Only in the movies it was never like this. It was never this scary, this hopeless. 

“Don’t cry,” Frank murmured. “Never thought anyone would be there in the end. Means so much more that it’s you. You know that?”

“It’s not the end.” Karen didn’t know who she was trying to convince. “Help is on the way.”

Frank didn’t bother arguing with her. He just brushed his thumb tenderly along her collarbone. “Should have never left that night. Should have told you—”

A voice rang out at the mouth of the alley. “Karen!”

They weren’t even close to being out of the woods yet, but her chest instantly felt lighter. Karen squeezed Frank’s hand and let out a sigh of relief.

 _Finally_.

Frank’s brows furrowed as Matt jogged down the length of the alleyway. He wasn’t wearing the red suit, but even halfway dead, Frank’s eyes narrowed with the realization of who his would-be savior was.

He looked back at Karen and groaned.

“Not Altar Boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I lied. This keeps getting longer than I planned. Two more chapters after this one. 
> 
> Thank you again for reading and commenting. It means a lot to me.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night Nurse to the rescue! And Karen comes clean to Matt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the crazy hiatus. Had some extreme writer’s block and other life bullshit. If you’re interested in a short but (hopefully) sexy Kastle story I wrote while I couldn’t get the words out for this one, check out my story Never Let Go. Anyway, I promise the next chapter will be longer and come out faster. Thanks for bearing with me! ❤️

“Good to see you too, Frank.” Matt turned to Karen. “We have to get him to my place. A friend of mine is on her way there. She’s a nurse.”

  
If Karen weren’t covered in Frank’s blood she would have hugged him. Not that it would have mattered much. He was in all black workout gear, his old vigilante digs—minus the black blindfold. Instead, she reached for his hand with her clean one. “Thank you.”

  
It wasn’t just about him showing up to save Frank. It was about him answering her hysterical phone call in the middle of the night and coming to help without any questions or hesitation. She owed him. A lot. And he deserved answers. But right now they just needed to get Frank medical attention as soon as possible.

  
“Got a van two blocks away. Tried to get there. Couldn’t make it,” Frank mumbled.

  
Matt nodded and crouched on the other side of him. He looked at Karen. “Ready?”

  
She nodded and they both hoisted him up by his shoulders as Frank groaned. He was heavy as hell, especially with his big coat and combat gear, but somehow they managed to half carry half lead him down the sidewalk. Okay, not somehow. It was Matt taking about 70 percent of the weight. Still, Karen was sweating and panting by the time they reached Frank’s white van, despite having left her coat back at the bar with...

  
Oh _shit_. _Foggy_.

  
Everything had moved so quickly once she hung up with Frank. She vaguely remembered ordering an Uber and frantically calling Matt’s phone over and over until he answered, but it was like a scene in a movie where a bomb goes off. Everything was white noise and blurry shapes. She hadn’t been able to think straight, she’d just acted. And apparently she hadn’t even grabbed her purse or jacket or told Foggy and Marci she was leaving.

Jesus, she was a shitty friend lately. She might have Matt beat. Especially while he was sacting the day, settling Frank in and keeping pressure on the wound while Karen scrambled onto the driver’s seat.

  
“Keys?” She asked?

  
“Glove compartment,” Frank said sluggishly. “And put on your seatbelt.”

  
“Trust me, I will. The last time I drove, someone crashed a pickup truck into me.”

  
She joked but Karen’s fingers were shaking as she buckled up and started the engine. They were only a few minutes away from Matt’s apartment but Frank was bleeding badly and his speech and movement was slowing. These two months without him had been hard enough. If she lost him for real, if she couldn’t save him...

  
_No_. She wouldn’t think about it. She wouldn’t let it happen.

  
Maybe he didn’t care about her the way she did him. Maybe after all this they’d go back to living in the same city but never seeing each other or talking over shitty coffee and takeout again, but there would be an after. Karen would do whatever it took. Frank Castle wasn’t going to die, not if there was any chance she could save him.

  
Karen out the van in drive. “Hold on guys.”

  
.

  
.

  
.

  
.

  
“Put him on the couch. Matt, get me towels and water,” a woman snapped as Karen and Matt heaved Frank up the last few stairs leading up to Matt’s place. Claire, she guessed.

  
Foggy mentioned her once or twice in passing. Karen just knew she was the one who’d been stitching Matt up and keeping him alive when he first started fighting crime. Karen just hoped she wasn’t fussy about the vigilantes she patched up.

  
“He’s got at least one bullet wound,” Karen said as she and Matt led him through the doorway, though it was more like carrying than leading at this point. Frank’s forehead was damp with sweat and his breaths were slow and rattled against her neck.

  
“Two,” Frank groaned as they eased him onto the couch. “Left...side.”

  
Karen backed away as Claire crouched at his side. She was already wearing gloves and had a bag of medical supplies at her side, but as she leaned forward she paused. Claire’s eyes narrowed and she turned to Matt. “Tell me this isn’t who I think it is.”

  
Karen tensed but Matt didn’t miss a beat as he handed Claire a bundle of towels and set down a bowl of water beside her. “I warned you you wouldn’t like it.”

  
“And yet I came all the way down from Harlem anyway.” Claire pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a long exhale. “This is it, Matt. No more dead men. No more ninjas. You got it?”

  
“I can promise you Frank isn’t a ninja.”

  
“I mean it, Matt.”

  
“I know. And I’m sorry,” he said solemnly. “I won’t be calling in the middle of the night again. I promise.”

  
Claire’s shoulders were rigid and and there was a tiredness to her dark eyes that was from more than just a sleepless night. Another woman sucked into vigilante crap. A year ago they could have bonded, but the truth was she’d stopped getting sucked in months ago. At this point Karen was straight up diving into it. Still, she knew how it felt to be helpless against a wave of violence and bullshit without super senses or kung fu to defend you. And how difficult it was to resist that damn Murdock charm.

  
Karen watched firsthand as Claire surrendered to it. Her expression softened, but only for a moment as she met Karen’s eyes. “This isn’t going to be easy. The wounds are probably infected and he’s lost a lot of blood.”

  
Karen’s jaw tightened. She didn’t need a warning, she needed her to save him. “Just help him. _Please_.”

  
Claire nodded as she faced Frank. “Don’t make me regret this.”

  
Frank’s hazy eyes locked into Claire’s. His voice was gritty when he spoke. “Appreciate it, doc.”

  
Claire immediately got to work, cutting off his black shirt and cleaning around the deep, jagged bullet holes on his abdomen. Karen stepped back to give Claire some space, but Frank’s eyes zeroed in on her and his throat moved with effort.

  
“Don’t go.”

  
“I won’t.” She blinked through the tears blurring her vision and knelt slightly behind him, out of Claire’s way but close enough for him to feel her near. She was aware of Matt’s presence on the other side of the room and of Claire digging through her bag at Frank’s side, but she didn’t care. Karen smoothed her palm over his forehead and watched his chest fall and rise slowly, far too slowly. “I’m here.”

  
Frank’s eyelids shuttered. “Just stay. Please.”

  
Karen bit her lip hard enough to sting. “Okay.”

  
.

  
.

  
.

  
An hour later Frank was stable, his wounds clean and bandaged and his fever down slightly. Though he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Claire would be back in the morning to change his bandages and figure out next steps. In the meantime, she’d packed her bag and had a low conversation with Matt in the kitchen before heading out with a quick goodbye.

Karen mentally added her to her List of People She Seriously Seriously Owed, following Matt, Foggy (who she’d quickly texted to say she was alright and that she was with Matt and _no_ , he definitely shouldn’t come over), Marci, and the girl in the stall next to her at work who gave her a tampon the other day. Though obviously she was up there way higher than tampon girl.

  
But first she had to deal with number one on her list…

  
Matt stood by one of the big living room windows, his wary face lit by the billboard outside. Karen remembered sitting beside him in this same living room two years ago, soaking wet and wearing one of his shirts as Matt told her he’d give anything to see the sky one more time.

  
She’d admired him so much then, this blind stranger who took her in and helped her when she was utterly alone in this beautiful, terrifying city. She still did, but it was different. They’d been through so much, told so many lies. And Karen’s biggest one was lying on the couch between them, softly sleeping off two bullet wounds.

  
She carefully climbed to her feet and joined Matt by the window, careful not to wake Frank, though she doubted anything short of an explosion would rouse him at this point.

  
“Thank you. For everything.”

  
Matt sighed and folded his hands over his chest like a disappointed parent about to lay on the Catholic guilt trip. “What are you doing, Karen?”

  
She rested her head against the window pane and let her eyes drift shut. “I have no idea.”

  
“He’s dangerous, unstable. He _kills_ people.”

  
“I know, Matt. I’ve seen it,” she snapped.

  
“And what, you’re fine with it?” Matt demanded. “That’s not a dealbreaker for you?”

  
“Maybe it’s not.” Karen ignored the expression of shock and hurt on Matt’s face and quickly continued. “I’m not just brushing it off like it’s nothing. I‘ve spent—God, I don’t know how long agonizing over it. I _know_ it’s wrong. I _know_ he should be in jail. B-but maybe there is a place for his kind of justice. Maybe...maybe I feel safer knowing he’s out there.”

  
Matt looked like she’d slapped him. “You don’t really mean that.”

  
“I really do, Matt.” He didn’t know what she’d been through, the kinds of things she’d seen. He didn’t know what she’d done. Or that she’d do it all again in a heartbeat. “When I think about Grotto or that kid in court who’s dad h-he killed...feel sick to my stomach,” she admitted shakily. “Sometimes I don’t know how I can reconcile the way I feel. How could I be okay with spending time with someone who’s done the things he’s done, who’s killed that many people? I know how I should feel—how I’m supposed to feel about him. B-but I don’t.”

  
“How do you feel about him?”

  
“I don’t know,” Karen said hoarsely.

It was like her brain was always playing catch up with her poor hopeless heart when it came to Frank. Even now, months after he left her half drunk and alone in her kitchen, she was still untangling her emotions.

  
She wanted to strangle him. Shake him. Scream at him for punishing himself as much as he was punishing the criminals lurking in warehouses and alleyways. But at the same time...she would do dangerous, illegal things just to hear that full, throaty laugh of his. Or to see that distracted look in his eyes when she smoothed her hands over her skirt or gathered her hair up in a bun. Or to just share a park bench and a couple cups of coffee with him while she worked on an article.

  
She was fucking hopeless.

  
Whatever answer Matt heard in her heartbeat or breath made his frown deepen. He let out a long sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You better tell Foggy before he finds out on his own. Trust me.”

  
She didn’t know if by tomorrow there’d be much to find out. This whole night felt like a surreal nightmare. Karen wouldn’t be totally surprised if she woke up and Frank was gone from her life as fast as he’d reentered it. Still, she nodded. “I will.”

  
Matt gave her a towel for the shower and some spare sweats to change into. He offered to let her have his bed while he slept on the floor, but she declined.

  
Still too weird. Besides, he’d done enough already. The least she could do was let him try to catch a few hours of sleep in his own bed. And truthfully? She didn’t want to leave Frank’s side. Partially to make sure he wouldn’t limp off in the middle of the night. But mainly, she was too scared to leave him. Too scared to lose him.

  
Karen’s skin was still pink and raw from scrubbing off his blood in the shower as she settled next to where he dozed on the couch. She burrowed into the pile of blankets, watching his chest rise and fall softly in the darkness.

  
_How do you feel about him?_

  
Karen reached out in the dark and held his calloused hand in hers.


End file.
